


I found a fox, caught by dogs

by Whenyourhairisalsoahood



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: And one very real threesome, Boston, F/F, Femmes with drills, Fisting, Lesbian AU, Mental Health Issues, Past Drug Use, Romance, Strap-Ons, Topping from the Bottom, a love letter to short tops, and big bossy bottoms, i do like virgos really, imaginary threesomes with real lovers in them, sexy mortgage chat, stage management Trixie, yoga Katya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 01:10:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 102,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11933190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whenyourhairisalsoahood/pseuds/Whenyourhairisalsoahood
Summary: Katya bends behind her and speaks quietly into her ear, "You know, you needn't worry about it looking nice. That's not what yoga is about."Trixie doesn't respond, but keeps looking at Katya and slowly takes a breath. She releases it in a smooth, controlled way. Katya wishes she wasn't wearing harem pants so she could show off the strength of her hamstrings and quadriceps. Her thighs are perfectly parallel to the floor, and her spine perpendicular."You're strong. You obviously know your body. I'd like to push you, Trixie," she whispered."I told you, I only want to get my legs behind my ears so my uncle will fuck me." Trixie's eyes are still focused on Katya's. They stare each other down.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title and fic inspired by Kate Bush's Hounds of Love. It's the best song in the world.
> 
> Apologies to any American stage managers/technical theatre professionals: I'm writing with knowledge of the UK industry, and I've merged the roles of lighting designer and technician here for ease and variety. 
> 
> Thanks to all the brilliant fanfic authors already working in this genre who have inspired me to actually write something (that isn't poetry or for work) for the first time in a good long time.
> 
> \-------  
> Here is the _I found a fox, caught by dogs_ playlist! Not necessarily songs chosen by Trixie and Katya to share with each other, but songs that evoke (to me) the main tones and themes of the fic. 
> 
> 1\. Hounds of Love, Kate Bush  
>  _Now hounds of love are hunting me // I've always been a coward // And I don't know what's good for me_
> 
> 2\. This Mess We’re In, PJ Harvey & Thom Yorke  
>  _And I have seen // The sunrise over the river // The freeway // Reminding of this mess we're in_
> 
> 3\. Say You’ll Be There, The Spice Girls  
>  _I'll give you everything, on this I swear // Just promise you'll always be there_
> 
> 4\. Cut To The Feeling, Carly Rae Jepsen  
>  _Take me to emotion, I want to go all the way// Show me devotion and take me all the way_
> 
> 5\. Hot Topic, Le Tigre  
>  _Alice Gerard, Billy Tipton, Julie Doucet, Yayoi Kusama, Eileen Myles_
> 
> 6\. Los Ageless, St Vincent  
>  _How can anybody have you and lose you//And not lose their mind too?_
> 
> 7\. Everywhere, Fleetwood Mac  
>  _You know that I'm falling //And I don't know what to say // I'll speak a little louder// I'll even shout // You know that I'm proud // And I can't get the words out_
> 
> 8\. Disco Tits, Tove Lo  
>  _I'm wet through all my clothes // I'm fully charged, nipples are hard // Ready to go_
> 
> 9\. Fuck The Pain Away, Peaches  
>  _Suckin' on my titties like you wanted me // Calling me, all the time like Blondie_
> 
> 10\. Oblivion, Grimes  
>  _I need someone else // To look into my eyes and tell me // "Girl, you know you've got to watch your health"_
> 
> 11\. #1 Must Have, Sleater Kinney  
>  _And for all the ladies out there // I wish we could write more than the next marketing bid // Culture is what we make it, yes it is_
> 
> 12\. Big Time Sensuality, Bjork  
>  _It takes courage to enjoy it // The hardcore and the gentle // Big time sensuality // We just met // And I know i'm a bit too intimate // But something huge is coming up // And we're both included_

August 2017

Katya pulls her red, open weave sweater on. As usual, the small of her back is wet with sweat. She liberally sprays herself with extra strength antiperspirant, and melts some of her patchouli solid perfume on her wrists. She pads barefoot down the stairs to the cafe of the Boston Women's Art Centre and orders her usual cinnamon and ginger tea from Violet. She jots down the names of the women that came to her session, the poses they managed, and what they found difficult. It was no teacher's mark book, but a cluster of observations interspersed with pages of doodles. Katya kept a record of each of her classes; each class had its own vibe and character and she wanted to capture it as accurately as she could. 

Her writing is large and slanted, and she uses one of the old drawing pens that she favoured in art school. 

_Carol: Retired head teacher. First session. Prefers individualised instructions. Weakness in left wrist. Also attends French language group._

__

__

_Emilia: Fourth session. Still wants to build core strength. Is Deaf, interpreter (Rose) will translate my instructions._

__

_Kez: Attending since 2014. Very proficient. Working on the Wounded Peacock (punga mayurasana.) Seemed quiet today. Mentioned booking a trip to Europe but I didn't get a chance to ask where._

Katya has taught yoga at the Boston Women's Art Centre for eight years and she has a record of every attendee. From those that had come devotedly for years, to those that had dipped their toe in once and had never come back. She could trace their progress from their first ever downward facing dog to trying the one-handed tree pose (eka hasta vrksasana). She could trace their journeys through marriage, children, travel, illness, divorce, transition, and even death. 

The next class was her favourite, the LGBT womens' group. She had established the group two years ago and was pleased that so many women came, including a good number of trans women and bi women. As a cis lesbian, she had tried to be aware and inclusive in the language she used to describe the group, and had asked some of her smart trans, bi and genderqueer friends to write blogs for the centre's website. She'd made sure they had a gender neutral changing room and when one of the women's boyfriend had picked her up from a session, Katya had run outside to say hello. The group had flourished, and Katya was proud that many friendships and relationships had sprung up. There were a few couples eager to 'reconnect', singles looking to meet women away from the bars, some vegan hipsters, and a small coven of older women that Katya had to try and prise herself away from. Katya was pleased that she had women that worked all kinds of jobs, from South End curators to surgeons, social workers, waitresses, and one woman that worked at a gas pump. 

Katya felt her teaching was best when she could relax and be herself, giving instructions mixed with long discursions, verdant metaphors and the odd flurry of French or Russian. She always looked forward to the class on Tuesdays. 

Katya lingers by the big cork boards to look at the messages there, ponders buying a fold up bike or an old armchair. After finishing her tea, she makes her way back up the studio to stretch out again. Soon, the usual crowd starts filtering in. Katya is pleased to see several regulars arrive together, chatting animatedly. 

Behind the rest of the group is a woman that Katya had not seen before at yoga, at the centre, in South End, or even in JP. The rest of her class tends to wear either harem trousers and tank tops, or smocks and leggings. This tall stranger is dressed more ostentatiously. She wears fuchsia pink leggings with panels at the sides that taper as they reached her ankles, emphasising her wide hips and rounded calves. The panels are patterned with swirling pastel pink and white, and the overall effect is a sort of 80s aerobics instructor Barbie doll. 

On top she isn't wearing a vest or a t-shirt but a magenta, long line sports bra. It pushes her large breasts together; her tanned chest is smooth and taut. The straps cut into her shoulders, leaving the skin underneath looking red and irritated. Her stomach is soft and rounded, the bra biting into the skin of her waist. The skin of her stomach flutters lightly from her walk up the stairs, and she holds one long hand against it. Her hair is thick and blonde, woven into two long plaits pulled together at the back of her head. She has round, pink cheeks and deep brown irises that stand out sharply against the brilliant whites of her eyes. 

The rest of the group drifts towards their usual spaces, pull out their mats and begin their stretches. The stranger lingers, pink foam roll under her arm. 

"You're welcome to set up anywhere you want. Most people have their own stretches they do just to warm up the muscles. If you like I could suggest some, or you could just start your movement after our welcome circle," said Katya, trying to project a sort of friendly authority. 

"Yes, thanks," she replies briskly.

Katya let's her arms swing at her sides while the stranger stares back at Katya. 

She unrolls her mat right in front of Katya. She is a good few inches taller than Katya and looks directly down at her. She rolls her neck first to one side, and then to the other. She spreads her shoulders wide and rolls them forward and back. Katya has seen Ginger do the same thing many times before her choir practices, and Katya idly wonders if this woman is also a singer. 

After a few minutes Katya beckons the group over to the empty space behind her mat and they sit in a small circle, knees touching. Katya doesn't want to single out the newcomer and so begins, "It's great to see a few new faces today. We always start with our names and people usually add either what brought them here or something good that has happened to them recently." 

Usually this turns into a bitching session, full of in-jokes and by name references to bratty children or unreasonable bosses. Today, the group seems a bit subdued by this tall, unaccountably pink interloper. 

As everyone speaks one by one, Katya is curious as to what the newcomer is going to say. She tries to actively listen to the others, but her eyes flicker over to the blonde woman. 

"I'm Trixie Mattel. I'm from Milwaukee. I'm here because my uncle always told me he'd find me hotter if I was a bit more flexible." 

That definitely wasn't what Katya was expecting. The group falls silent. The atmosphere is frosty. 

Trixie puts her head on the back of her hand and adopts a nasal, Valley girl tone. She says, "I'm, like, totally here to find myself." 

Katya finds herself doing her wheezing, open mouthed laugh. Some of the rest of the group snicker politely. 

Miriam adds quietly, "Yes, these hipsters appropriating the ancient philosophy of Buddhism can be frustrating." She nods towards Trixie. 

Katya feels sure that Trixie is going to answer in her Valley girl tone but instead she says, "They're usually the ones wearing the war bonnets at Coachella as well. I'm half native and fully unforgiving so..." 

Miriam smiles back at her, and the frosty feeling eases slightly. 

Katya stands, encouraging the rest of the group back to their mats. Trixie gets to her feet, and Katya is fairly impressed to see that she doesn't brace her arms on the floor at all. Katya sometimes begins the session with a bit of silliness to make sure everyone relaxes. She segues into her 'Russian gymnast instructor' character, clapping brusquely at them and shouting in Russian. Today she feels a bit intimidated by the presence of Trixie, standing straight backed on her mat. 

Some of the group close their eyes while they do yoga, falling into a meditative state as they move through their flow. Others whisper and giggle, mats set out closely together. Trixie keeps standing straight, waiting for her instruction. Her spine is tucked under so her big ass sticks out. Her dark eyes are focussed intently on Katya. 

Trixie isn't bad at yoga. She finishes all of her poses with a flicked wrist or an artfully posed finger. She has a tendency to bend one knee across the other, and point her toe to the floor. Katya's made up her mind that she must be some sort of dancer. 

She's on her knees, having successfully completed a Cakravakasana pose. It's fairly challenging, but Katya's not sure if Trixie knows that yet. 

Katya bends behind her and speaks quietly into her ear, "You know, you needn't worry about it looking nice. That's not what yoga is about." 

Trixie doesn't respond, but keeps looking at Katya and slowly takes a breath. She releases it in a smooth, controlled way. Katya wishes she wasn't wearing harem pants so she could show off the strength of her hamstrings and quadriceps. Her thighs are perfectly parallel to the floor, and her spine perpendicular. 

"You're strong. You obviously know your body. I'd like to push you, Trixie," she whispered. 

"I told you, I only want to get my legs behind my ears so my uncle will fuck me." Trixie's eyes are still focused on Katya's. They stare each other down. 

Katya walks away from Trixie for a few paces, then lies on her stomach with her elbows bent and hands spread out underneath her shoulders. She makes sure her toes are in line with her hips, and brings her elbows tight to her sides like little grasshopper legs. She pushes her pelvis into the cool wooden floor. Katya uses her toes to walk her ass up into the air, and then flips her legs over and down until they are touching her head. She gives her toes a little wiggle, smirks and says, "You're going to need to work a little harder." 

Trixie lets out a long screech that rips the silence of the studio. Katya holds one finger to her lips and then smoothly flips her body back on to her feet, and pads to the back of the room to help the other women. 

Trixie doesn't say anything for the rest of the session. She easily finds her way into the feathered peacock pose, and Katya admires the quality and workmanship of her sports bra. Her big breasts remain smashed together as she holds herself upside down on her braced forearms. 

Afterwards, some of the group like to go to the café for lunch before they head off. She loves these women, but Katya sometimes hates the pressure of being the teacher. Her teaching persona means that some of the women attending seem to think that she's fonder of them than she is, and it makes her anxious. It's inevitable that if she starts talking to someone at the end of the session, she'll end up talking to them about their dead dad as Violet mops the table and cashes up the register behind them. Katya usually just hovers at the back of the room until they've gone, but Trixie is having trouble rolling her mat down to a manageable size. 

"Here," says Katya. She grabs the pink foam mat and wrings it between her two clenched fists. Her fingers are long and tanned, veins tracking over the backs of her hands like tributaries. "Is this your first yoga session?" 

"Yeah, was I that shit?" Trixie is staring at her again. 

"No, uh. Not at all. You managed most of the challenging poses!" Katya rushes. 

"Sorry I'm a bit of a cunt," says Trixie. She looks down at her own chest. "It's the Leo-Virgo cusp in me." 

Katya laughs and then pauses. "Look, I've been told that I've got a pretty dark sense of humour." Katya rubs her sweaty palms down the rough hemp of her trousers. "But the centre has a safe space policy. Maybe you could cool it with the incest jokes, mama." 

Trixie clicks her mouth shut, nods easily, "Sure thing." Trixie heaves her yoga mat over her shoulder, "See you next week." 

Katya sits at the back of the room and catches up with her notes. 

_Trixie Mattel: Possible dance background? Very strong, tried some challenging poses. Seems to like being provocative._

Katya does a mental scan of Trixie's body for any weaknesses or bad habits she needs to train her out of. Katya can only remember the fine sheen of sweat on her belly, the twin crescents of her breasts poking up from her bra and how from the side they bulged over the tight material. Katya tries a bit harder, but only recalls the short blonde curl at the back of her neck that had escaped from her braids. 

Trixie arrives at the next session with a full t-shirt on. It has a huge picture of Dolly Parton grinning in a half-buttoned cowboy shirt. Across her burnished hair is "lesbian icon" in a glowing pink font. Trixie unrolls her mat directly in front of Katya again. Katya calls everyone into the welcome circle. 

"I'm Katya, I've been teaching here for eight years now. I've got my new mum class, the vulnerably housed class, sunset yoga, rooftop yoga, students, advanced, beginners, the older group. And of course, this group, my favourites.... the herpes support group! No, that's not you? Fuck! What is this?" The group laughs, and Katya basks in their affection for her. 

"I'm Karen, you all know me! This week I've submitted the findings for the research I've been doing. I think they've turned out roughly how I wanted them, which is good." 

"Hi everyone, I'm Sally. I've been in this yoga group since it started, thanks to Katya," she smiles inanely at Katya, and Katya smiles back. "Before that I used to come to the intermediate group and the rooftop group. I've had a tough week but it's great to be here and the sun is shining!" 

"Hi, I'm the eyes of the Buddha statue slowly following you around the room, Trixie Mattel! I'm here because I'm just looking to find someone emotionally available and not full of bees." 

This time the group laughs and Trixie looks down at her hands. Her full cheeks already have a Malibu Barbie streak of blusher on them, but underneath it her skin had blushed a prettier, lighter shade of pink. 

Trixie is mostly quiet and assiduous. She moves her long legs gracefully from pose to pose, wiping her long blonde hair out of her eyes. Katya helps her in and out of some more challenging poses. She's struck by how pale her hands look as they circle Trixie's brown ankles. They're so soft that they remind Katya of the luxurious vegan handbags in the glass cabinets in the foyer of the centre. Katya isn't sure if that's a comparison Trixie would enjoy. 

At the end of the session Miriam loudly broadcasts a general invitation for post-yoga smoothies and fries, and Katya is surprised to see Trixie nodding at her. Katya begins to get her equipment together, it's her last class of the day and she needs to lock it away in the cupboard. Trixie is lingering. She is carefully refreshing her lipstick, outlining her cupids bow in pink before using a peach liner to emphasise it even more. As Katya straps her watch on to her wrist, her eyes meet Trixie's in her heart shaped compact. 

"You coming for fries real quick?" 

Katya finds herself nodding, breathing out a yes. In the café Katya asks the question she's been wondering about, replaying each of Trixie's movements in her head. 

"Are you a dancer?" 

"What makes you say that?" Trixie looks down at her. This close, Katya can see the slightly lighter stripe of foundation down the middle of her nose, and the light yellow pomade brushed into the arches of her eyebrows. As the sweatiest woman in Boston, Katya is impressed by Trixie's commitment to wearing a full face of make-up to yoga. But while Katya suspects that some of the more "crunchy granola" types in the group may find Trixie's make up off-putting, to Katya she is even more attractive in close proximity. 

"The way you stand, the way you finish your movements. When I asked you to stop with the incest jokes and you did. You've definitely been part of something quite disciplined. I grew up doing gymnastics, it's a similar thing," Katya wonders if that was a weird thing to say. 

"Well, that explains your flat chest and slight moustache." 

"Yes, it is pretty much organised child abuse but with added rhinestones and lycra. But, hey, at least I'm flexible!" 

"And my uncle has a huge dick." 

Trixie's responses come fast and with a completely straight face. 

"Trixie..." Katya warns. 

"To go back to your earlier question. You're right. I studied theatre at college. I started doing musical theatre, but now I do theatre lighting." Trixie glances around the café and gestures to the geometric copper lanterns hanging over their long wooden bench. "I like the lighting in here. It's much better than the studio. The studio is less zen garden and more high school cafeteria." 

Katya laughs. "You're right, but it's on the list for a refurb. We've just finished doing the cinema. Got the seats from an old music hall in Vermont and drove them back in three different cars. 

"No, I get that. I once worked on a contemporary version of A Doll's House propped entirely from my home," Trixie speaks while fixing Katya with that direct stare again. 

"Wow, I'd have liked to see Nora in full 90s acid Barbie realness." Katya hopes that she's right in remembering that the main character is Nora. 

Trixie yell-laughs, "Bitch – it was perfect! It's all about escape from suburbia! It's literally called A. Doll's. House." 

Katya can't help shrieking. She knows her two full rows of teeth are showing, and she's flapping her hands. 

Trixie stops laughing, "It's a great centre, you can tell it's a labour of love." Her voice is soft. Katya ducks her head, pulls at the back of her neck. 

"I better get moving," Katya says. "I have to see a man about some Romanov family photos." 

After her last class of the day Katya usually sees who is working on the front desk and the kitchen. Today she waves breezily at Violet on the front desk and sails through the glass doors. She pulls her scarf twice around her neck, and heads off into the Fall air. It's still fairly warm, but the trees are beginning to turn a rich, burnt orange. Katya loves Boston in the Fall. Katya lights a cigarette, switches it between her hands. She bends her knees and does a couple of quick squats in the street to burn off some of the restless energy humming through her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a short one, from Trixie's P.O.V. 
> 
> Will probably write different points of view for alternative chapters because I'm not a very sophisticated prose writer and need to move my 'camera' with brute force!

Trixie waits for Skype to connect, wine in hand. Finally, the faces of her two former roommates come into view. 

"Bianca! Kim! Hi!" They are in Trixie's old living room. There are pictures of the three of them on the wall. Only the absence of Trixie's vintage Barbies, and the lack of her guitar propped against the sofa betray that Trixie has gone. 

Kim is sketching, holding her soft coloured pencils in her hand. A number of sheets are spread out around her. Next to her is Bianca, her lap full of black fabric. She is hand sewing something that looks structured and complicated. 

"You look great!" enthuses Kim. 

Bianca scans Trixie for signs of something she can worry about. "Been sleeping, bitch?" Her harsh Louisiana accent never fails to make Trixie smile. 

"Yes, Bianca." 

"Eating?" 

"Yes, Bianca." 

"Well I can see that, actually. You know, unlike a bear, you can just put on a coat in winter. You don't need to store blubber," Bianca's eyes are warm and she smirks at Trixie. 

"That's seals, actually. But I'll allow it. Go on," Trixie wiggles her head at the screen, as Kim elbows Bianca. 

"Why haven't you unpacked, hooker Barbie?" 

"I have...a bit," Trixie gestures behind her to the large neon pink sign which reads _Get Shit Done_ in a swirling font, a parting gift from Bianca and Kim. She had also unpacked the uplighter lamps synced to her iPhone, her guitar and a picture of the three of them in their first apartment after college. 

"What are you guys working on?" asks Trixie, wishing that she was squeezed between them on their old couch. 

Kim holds her drawings up to the screen. The low-quality camera doesn't pick up much, but Trixie can see drawings of a lithe blonde woman in sweeping gowns and masks. 

"I'm doing some costume concept designs for this Australian singer, Courtney Act. She saw my 'Korean Evolution' piece and emailed me. There are lots of birds...angels...moving parts. It's fun!" 

Bianca breaks in, "This is not fucking fun! It's fucking Titus Andronicus with 40s Thin White Duke stylings. The Director wants everything 'authentic,'" Bianca purses her lips and tilts her head to the side before continuing. "So, I tell her we can get these off the peg for 40 bucks each and just do alterations. But no, I'm here, doing fucking seams with my hands." 

Trixie squints at the screen, whistles. 

"That's going to be a hard fabric to light," says Trixie. Bianca goes to the lamp and moves the fabric under it. 

"Yeah, you're telling me! I wanted to pick out some details in this grey metallic edging I've got, but the director doesn't want it to be too 'faggy,'" Bianca's sardonic tone is mirrored on Trixie's face. 

"But look at Lavinia!" Bianca heads off camera to her room. She comes back, Trixie gasps. It's a bit tight over Bianca's tits, and it's too long on her scrawny legs but it's gorgeous. It has Bianca's statement boat neck but after the bust it falls into layers of gauzy, silver material. It's virginial and regal, composed yet dishevelled. 

"Bianca, it's -" 

"WAIT- " screeches Kim. "Wait for the severed hand reveal!" 

Bianca flips up the long sleeves of the dress, her wrists are folded under to mimic the prosthetic wrists the actor will wear. The innermost layer of the dress is blood red. 

"Bitch, that is so good!" Squeals Trixie. "You are so fucking talented!" 

Bianca is off screen, changing. 

"How's your show?" asks Kim. 

"It's good. They've blocked it and I've had the notes every day. I've been using the set box to try out a few things. Some of the smaller venues have told me fucking nothing about their rigs. We should get a full run through on Friday. We're opening in Boston, then going to New York for our first residency. Then back to Boston, then a tour through Mass." 

"Where's the closest to Chicago?" Bianca is back now, wearing her PJs and, alarmingly, a sheet mask. 

"Not close," says Trixie, picking her nails. 

"Not the question, bitch. Where's closest? We're coming." 

"Yeah, yeah." Trixie knows she should be pleased but the more she sees them, the harder it will be to not just get in the car with them and go home. But she survived being taken from her home at 14. She survived moving down-state for college. Survived moving to the sprawling gila monster of a city that is Chicago. She can survive this. She takes a sip of her cool white wine. "I've been going to yoga!" 

"What white nonsense is this?!" Kim and Bianca both screech in unison. 

"I know...I know...it's gay yoga, in a women's centre," Trixie falls back into her white girl voice. 

"Christ," says Bianca. "I'm off for a piss." 

"They're not too Tori Amos! Although I did get told off for making an incest joke." 

"Fair," says Kim, shading in an elaborate headpiece. 

"It's good!" Trixie protests. "The instructor, Katya, is nuts. She used to be a gymnast. She talks the whole time, about nothing. She has really veiny forearms and wears too much eyeliner. I've been going every week but I'll need to go to one of the non-gay sessions if I want to go again before the tour." 

Trixie wants to describe Katya's strong legs and the way her green eyes grab Trixie. She wants to describe every piece of jewelry that she's seen Katya wear. Kim wanders off and leaves Trixie staring at the empty sofa. Maybe she can tell the sofa about Katya's red lips and white teeth and how she listens equally to everyone, and how Trixie has to bite her lip when Katya leans her body weight against Trixie's leg to make it bend further. 

"Sorry Trix. I've made bao and I've got some kalbi in the oven," Kim shouts from the kitchen. 

"Making the most of living without a veggie?" asks Trixie. 

"Too fucking right!" Kim wanders back into view, spoon sticking out of the corner of her mouth. "Right girl, this is almost done so I need to move the computer so I can chop up some radishes." 

"No, no. You go. You need to eat. I've got some groceries in and I need to make my own dinner." 

Bianca appears out of nowhere, unnervingly close to the camera. 

"What do you have?" Even with a simple question, her tone is abrasive. Trixie grasps for the first non-meat food items she can think of. 

"Tofu, falafel, zucchini, artichokes, uh...pasta." Trixie falters. Bianca tilts her head. 

"Really, girl?" 

"No. But I've got a packet of Ramen noodles, a vibrator and a box of wine in the fridge so I'm sure I'll survive." 

"BYE BITCH!" shouts Bianca, and her and Kim wave from the cosy Chicago flat. Trixie ends the call as quickly as possible, while they are all still laughing. She doesn't want to get to the awkward part of waiting to see who will end the call first. 

She goes to her small kitchen. She has barely unpacked her coffee and mug. Boxes still line the floor. She opens the cupboard where she does have a small stash of noodles. She closes it again. 

She refills her glass with the cheap box wine, roots around in one of the moving boxes for some make-up wipes, and heads to bed.


	3. Chapter 3

Katya waits on the roof for her sundown yoga class. Like her LGBT group, it was something she had advocated for. Her and Ginger had dragged piles of reclaimed wooden pallets up the three floors to the roof. They'd pulled them apart and used them to build a floor where there had only been cracked and dirty tiles. Though Katya had been sucking out splinters for weeks, after it was done she had enjoyed one of the most peaceful nights of sleep that she could remember in her adult life. 

This group was a bit older, a bit more moneyed than most of her groups. Katya found herself imitating their voices in her head before the session. 

_"I'm getting older and my body is changing and I'm not going to apologise for that"_

__

__

_"Since I've been to Europe all I wanna drink is Aperol Spritz but my place only does Bellinis"_

_"This Chinese woman downtown hooked me up with a crystal for my bloating, and now I can eat pasta again."_

No-one thinks the Boston skyline is much to look at, and you can't even see the water from the centre, but Katya still loves the view. Twilight creeps in; the reflective windows of the office block opposite reflect the sun's burning orange. At the T-stop, friends are beginning to meet for a night out. A girl in heels with a jacket slung over one shoulder embraces a boy in a plaid shirt. Office workers scuttle past them, hurrying to get home. 

Katya turns, and is assailed by that pair of brown eyes. Trixie's face is lit with an apricot glow. Her hair is painted rose gold in the light, and the mild Fall wind blows her winding curls around her face. She wears no make-up, and her pale yellow eyebrows and lashes make her look young and soft. Trixie's cheeks are plump, and without her usual contour her nose seems rounder and wider than Katya remembered. 

"It's late, for me, so I've come make up free. When I get home I'm planning just to roll into bed," Trixie said, smiling at Katya. 

Katya can't help imagining waiting at home for Trixie. She thinks about what it would be like to have Trixie crawling into bed next to her, pressing her cold face into Katya's breasts. Her brain skips forward to what it would be like to wake up to that face. To see Trixie's full lips half-open on the pillow, her translucent eyelashes fluttering open. 

"You look great," Katya says, and feels inadequate. 

"It's the golden hour. I'd expect to look at least somewhat good." 

"Yes! Bringing back those photography tutorial flashbacks, girl," Katya knows she's gone over the top, but Trixie smiles coyly. 

"It’s surprisingly hard to get right artificially. You can't easily mimic that diffuse quality." 

"Mama, I need to get more details from you about this job of yours. But first, yoga." 

Katya knows she isn't teaching at her best today. She's distracted by the way that sunlight pools and shifts down the curve of Trixie's back as she bends forward into extended puppy pose. She can't handle the way the wind teases her hair. 

At the end of the session Katya wraps a scarf around her neck, and tucks her journal and yoga mat under her arm. She makes a swift exit. When she gets home she pulls out an old sketchbook and some pencils. She sketches out the skyline of Boston from memory. When her hand has warmed up, she tries to let it float across the page by itself. She can't stop drawing eyes. Heavily lined eyes; blonde fringed eyes; defiant eyes; laughing eyes; dreamy, evening eyes. She picks her soft pastel pencils and starts shading bands of peach and yellow, interrupted by slashes of vibrant blue. 

She washes up her plate and her fork, and the small pan she used to whisk herself up a scrambled egg for dinner. Her apartment is quiet and dark, and she weaves her way to her bedroom through the piles of old tights and yoga books on the floor. She leaves her doors open, she has no-one to seek privacy from. 

On top of her sheets, she touches herself. At first, she tries to think of the girls she's slept with in the past. She thinks of the ones at high school that turned her down. She thinks of porn girls and girls she's seen at the club and on perfume ads. Before long, she's thinking of Trixie. She imagines leading her up the steps to the rooftop studio. Katya's pulling her down to the floor beside her. Katya is fucking her while Trixie grabs the railings. If someone looked up they'd see Trixie's knuckles around the metal and her hair whipped by the wind. Trixie is bucking her hips on to Katya's hand, panting and moaning while the city buzzes underneath them. Katya imagines Trixie's nipples lustred peach by the low hanging sun, and so hard that they cast tiny shadows. 

It unravels quickly after that. Katya pumps her hips up into her own hand. On each thrust her teeth get stuck on the T of Trixie. After she comes, Katya enjoys the buzz running down the firm muscles of her legs. It's a counterpoint to the ache in her hips and her knees. She clenches her toes to click them, and hopes her bones feel less stiff in the morning. 

The next day before class she spontaneously fixes one of the hair clips she made in college into her hair. She wears her good lipstick and remembers to blot it with tissue and add a second layer. 

Trixie doesn't come to yoga. The other women don't seem to notice. Or if they do, they don't ask after her. They revert to their first-name references to partners and children. Katya is extremely attentive to everyone at the session. She finds an excellent one-armed pose for Helen who has hurt her wrist, and encourages a first timer into the splits. After the session, they file straight out for smoothies or herbal tea at the café. Katya waves them off. Two of them give her a hug, and one does the awkward elbow cupping thing. 

Katya worries. Was the group not inclusive in some way? Did she google Katya and find out that her official accreditations are minimal? Did she want a yoga teacher that had studied in Thailand? Did she want a yoga teacher that had natural grace, and didn't need extra strength anti-perspirant or four presses of blotting paper per hour? Did she figure out that Katya had had unprofessional thoughts about her? Katya needs to talk to Violet. 

"Hey, Violet. Did you see the tall, pink-wearing one at all today?" 

"Porno Barbie?" calls Violet from behind the coffee machine she's currently cleaning. 

"Not since your rooftop class yesterday. Maybe she prefers that one? It's not fucking cis-het only, Jesus." 

"You're right," Katya says. "You're right." 

Katya perches herself on the edge of Violet's counter. "So, can one wank over one's yoga student?" Katya queries. "I'm asking for a friend." 

Katya sees Violet's wide-open laugh in the reflection of the chrome milk steamer. Its convex surface renders Violet's perfect face grotesque, and Katya wants to have a go at making faces in it. 

"Come through!" Violet squeals. "It had to happen sometime with your little lezzer love-in!" 

"Not just lezzers, bitch! Are you sure it's not, you know, taking advantage?" 

"You're not a fucking kindergarten teacher! It's a turn on for them. You're the hot yoga teacher. You remind them of college and the one time they did acid and got fingered at Burning Man. Most of them are probably wet all down their legs in their stupid harem trousers at the thought of you ramming them when they're in the downward dog." 

"But I'm a fucking garbage monster with fucked up knees." 

"No," Violet says forcefully. "You'll never get anywhere like that. You've got the eyes of an enchanting sea witch, an enormous heart; and you can twist yourself up like a pretzel." 

Katya turns away, crossing her arms. 

"The next time she's in here, " continues Violet. "Just fucking grab her big ol' Dolly Parton titties and tell her you're taking her home." 

Katya was never sure whether she was grateful for dating advice provided by Violet. In some ways they shared the direct approach but where Katya suffered crippling self-doubt, Violet radiated preternatural self-confidence. 

The next week, Trixie didn't show up to rooftop yoga or LGBT yoga. Katya is convinced that she had done something to scare Trixie away. Maybe she had some sort of psychic power that picked up when people came with her name on their lips. Katya had experienced many people sign up for yoga and drop out a couple of weeks later, and so she tells herself that she would just have to accept it. 

Katya goes shopping, and buys a mug. It's not the sort she would usually buy. Usually her interior design influences are part Russian caravan on the silk road, part Oregon fortune teller, and part what she imagines the inside of a whale's mouth to look like. The mug is a pale pastel pink stamped with turquoise palm trees outlined in gold. It feels smooth and clean in her hands. She uses it once and stuffs it to the back of the cupboard. 

The following week, Katya gets a notification to say that the Boston Women's Art Centre account is now being followed by Trixie's account. She likes a picture that Katya had taken of the sunset from the roof, and a picture of Kara from the LGBT group in her first destroyer of the universe pose. Katya tries to snoop on her profile, but it's private. 

Katya thinks of sending her a message asking if she had done anything to drive Trixie away, but she doesn't want to send anything Ginger might not approve of. She's been trusted with the social media stuff, and she didn't want to do anything that made Ginger think she couldn't handle it. 

She works for twenty minutes on a message that sounds appropriately corporate and written by a computer. 

_Hey Trixie!  
Thanks for liking our photo! We're pretty proud of the view from the centre! If you ever wanted to join us for yoga at the centre, we'd love to have you! _

__

__

_Many thanks,  
All at the BWAC. _

Katya felt like a business woman, perhaps selling timeshares in luxury holiday apartments. 

Minutes later, a reply. 

_Hi Katya. Apologies, I'm a tied up with work right now. Trix._

Katya feels like a jerk. She tries to put it to the back of her mind for the next two weeks, but those stupid exclamation points keep making her cringe. She tries to make sure she is extra-professional at the centre. She instagrams herself in a new pose every day. She uses her notebook to plan every session pose-by-pose. She dodges hugs, avoids the café, speaks no Russian.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just another short one. I should be updating very regularly from now as I'm home alone for the next few weeks.

Trixie knows that she looks killer. She's got a meeting after this with the creative team to discuss the shitfest that was the New York residency, and how they can lick things into shape for their Boston residency and the Massachussets tour. She's mad as hell and has two sheets of notes for things that simply have to change. But first, she has an apology to make. 

She's in a skin-tight pleather skirt in a light pastel pink, with a simple white shirt tucked in. It's basic, but effective. She likes the little creases in the pleather where it stretches over her curves. She likes the little gold buttons on her shirt, and the gold collar tips she's clipped on. 

Trixie has made her way to the Boston Women's Art Centre and is waiting on the long, wooden mess table in the café. Around her there are a group of mums with young babies, a few people working on laptops and a group of older ladies waiting to go in to the small art cinema at the centre. 

She's asked the sour looking barista if Katya has arrived yet, and was glad to hear that she hadn't. Trixie sits facing the sliding glass doors, elbows braced on the table. 

Finally, Katya walks in. Her walk has a sort of strut to it. It's fast and jaunty, but she keeps her arms straight just like a model. She's wearing a loose batik jumpsuit with a leather jacket thrown on top. Trixie likes her green eyes and her striking cheekbones. She likes her dirty blonde curly hair, and her strong hands. She thinks that it’s probably unlikely that her hot yoga teacher will condescend to fuck her, but Trixie realises that the first rung on that ladder is probably being a bit nicer. 

"Hi, it's me! Foxy Knoxy's favourite prison bitch!" She shouts across the foyer to Katya. 

Katya cracks up. "Oh, mama, that's..." she screws up her face, wheezing. 

Trixie clasps her hands together and takes a breath, "I want to apologise for disappearing, and for being rude to you when you messaged me." 

"Oh, no," says Katya. "It's yoga, not a fucking probation appointment." 

"I felt it was rude. I've not been in Boston, I've been on tour with work. This is a bit weird but when we were in NYC I got you..." 

Trixie brings out a small brown paper bag held shut with a narrow strip of tape. Katya rips into the paper, takes out a rectangular fridge magnet of a Soviet woman farmer holding a basket of corn while looking dreamily off to the sunset. Katya holds it in her hands and doesn't say much. Trixie realizes suddenly that it's not usual to buy magnets for people you barely know. She doesn't even know if there's anything metallic in Katya's home. 

"I went to see an exhibition of USSR propaganda and stuff at The Met, and it reminded me of you. I don't know," Trixie trails off. 

"I love it," says Katya. She grins and tucks it away into her purse. "Thank you, it's very thoughtful of you." 

Trixie says what she came here to say, "If it’s a community centre I should treat it like one, not use it like a McDonalds, 'n so?" Trixie leans forward in her seat. 

She thinks of the broke-ass theatres she knows in areas where white people boast of the 'cultural amenities' in their realtor ads and stick another 10 grand on the price. Or places where people go to the theatre bar for cocktails but don't book tickets to her shows. 

"I'll try and tell you when I disappear in future," she finishes. 

Katya sits in silence for a couple of seconds. 

"There's no obligation to, but I would really appreciate that. So you were in NYC, anywhere else?" 

After that, conversation flows more easily. Katya only darts back up to the studio when Trixie spots some of the other women trotting up to the door. Trixie is torn. She doesn't really want the other women to spot them having a cosy chat, but she also wants them to see how she has Katya laughing. Trixie has always liked making people laugh, but with Katya it comes easier than most. She finds it immensely satisfying to get Katya flapping her hands, stamping her feet under the table. Trixie knows when to pause, when to use one of her voices, when to let Katya beat her to the punchline. 

When she sees the other women come through the door, Trixie stands up. She twists to the side, hopes like hell Katya is looking at her ass. For a second, Katya looks completely blank before she stumbles to her feet. 

"I've got to get to the theatre to talk to some people," says Trixie. She bites down on her fingernail and adopts her most obnoxious voice. "I've warned them to wear a maxi pad because they'll be needing something down there by the time I'm done with them." 

"Man, mama was right when she told me not to fuck with Virgos." 

"Oh, absolutely. Just ask Farrah, LaTavia or LaToya."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings:
> 
> This chapter has some references to poor mental health, suicidal ideation and substance misuse (coke, speed and alcohol.)
> 
> There are also some fairly flippant jokes about abuse.
> 
> Most of my characterization is drawn from my interpretation of Unhhhh and various podcasts so hopefully it's nothing worse than you've read or seen before.

Katya feels sweaty, rattled. She's not one for infatuation, or anything more than taking someone back to her flat and suggesting they leave fairly soon after she's come. But, thankfully, she doesn’t have much time for rumination before her class arrive. She usually prefers to be stretched and ready before they turn up, but instead she's trooping up the stairs in the middle of the pack. 

Behind her, one of the participants says to another, "Shit – was that girl the one that came for a couple of weeks last month? Did you see her ass?!" 

Katya's sweaty hand slips on the metal railing and she takes the stairs two at a time so she can push ahead. 

Katya decides to do her stretches at the same time as the welcome circle to try and catch up on the minutes she's lost. She's glad she's flopped over, looking at her feet when she says, 

"Hi, I'm Katya! I practically live here. My good thing for this week is that I unexpectedly reconnected with someone that I thought I might not see again!" 

The session goes well, and for a while she feels buoyed with new energy. But that evening, she still feels rattled. Katya's life is a delicate balance. For a long time she was perpetually on the teeter-totter between the noose and the gak. She needs to keep some sort of middle ground. She needs regular contact with the people she respects, but can't get too enmeshed. She needs creativity, but not the untrammelled sort that ends in a three day speed-and-painting extravaganza. She needs regular exercise, but mustn't find herself dizzy and tachycardic on the floor of the gym, with brown piss and far away eyes. 

Katya's flat feels too small. She brushes her teeth four times. She rocks on her feet from her toes to her heels and back again. In the mirror her eyes look restless, there's too much white around her irises, it looks like she's already had a bump of something. 

Katya tries yoga. She twists herself into her most complex poses, and her bones feel relief. She tries to imagine her thoughts as clouds floating across the sky of her mind. She fails. She swings her legs back down to the floor and smokes the last of her pack. She uses her nails to split the cellophane of a new pack. She decides to try and combine smoking and yoga. Ash falls on to her raised knee as she holds her cigarette in her teeth. 

She thinks about how sometimes she wants someone, but she knows it's not a good idea. It's a risk, and she doesn't take those any more. She wants to cup a taller woman's breasts with her hands, then let them fall heavily over her own. She wants to curl her fingers inside a slick cunt. She wants to be licked, to feel the heat of a tongue rather than her own blunt fingers. But it's not worth it, in the end. 

She does a quick google and see if they still do the Dyke Night at The Midway. They do, and her small apartment in JP isn't too far away. She should probably text Violet and Ginger but if she goes alone she can dance when she wants, come home when she wants. 

Katya lines her eyes with her blunt black liner, powders her sweaty forehead and dusts bronzer under her prominent cheekbones. She never used to buy lipstick that cost more than $1, but Violet bought her Bang by Urban Decay and now she lets herself wear it when she wants to feel like the person Violet thinks she is. She isn't too pleased with her reflection. Her mouth looks tight and twisted, and her eyes cold. 

The Midway is the other side of Centre Street, and Katya decides to walk down through the Arnold Arboretum. There's an hour until they shut the park, and Katya can stop and find her favourite trees. When she was young, her parents used to take her to a different part of the Emerald Necklace during every break between semesters. They'd sit up and mark their papers on the first day of vacation, then they'd take the kids out to see the trees. It's amazing that in the last thirty-four years the trees have barely changed at all. 

The maples and the larches have transformed themselves into every shade from gold to burgundy. She stoops to pick up a handful of witch hazel. She likes witch hazel because the leaves turn red from the edges inwards like they are on fire, and they make Katya feel like Joan of Arc. 

The park is mostly empty. She sees a few joggers and a group of college students cradling burritos wrapped in foil as they kick leaves at each other. Katya slips past them all. 

She emerges by the Forest Hills T-stop and leaves her little pile of leaves on the Arboretum wall. 

The Midway has a low ceiling and is already sweaty and murky. Pink lights flash over the dance floor, revealing slices of grinding movement. It already smells of weed and that raspberry perfume that seems to be this year's favourite among women who love women in Boston. 

Katya can't stand Queereoke but she falls a little bit in love with Dyke Night every time she comes. She loves all the different women. The ones in plaid, the ones in mesh with little PVC crosses over their nipples. She loves the ones that look like her old art teacher, and the ones that look like they just stepped out of a Cadillac, or off the set of one of Aaliyah's videos. 

Then, because of course it fucking is, it's Trixie. She's worn her hair loose and parted to the side, and it cascades down over the neckline of an off the shoulder black lace dress. Her shoulders are freckled, and her dress hits the middle of her thighs. 

She's determined to stay back, she knows Trixie's friends will appear soon. They don't want to speak to Katya, Trixie's fucking yoga teacher who looks like Sarah Sanderson after a few rough nights on the streets. They are bound to be young, creative types and when they find out that Katya's a fine art graduate that has barely produced anything of note since college, their tone towards her will surely change. 

Ten minutes later and Trixie's friends are nowhere to be seen. Trixie sinks two hi ball glasses of what looks like vodka and soda. She wobbles off to the bathroom and when she returns she gets a shot and another drink, and downs both immediately. 

Katya wishes she had spent more time on her hair. She wishes she had worn a cleaner dress. She wishes she hadn't pledged to sobriety. She wishes her internal voice would shut the fuck up. 

"Hey, it's the little girl who got lost in Dollywood and has been living in the Mystery Mine for the last 15 years!" 

Trixie screeches. "I love it! I wish that was me. I mean, fifteen years. I'd have never met my step-dad! That's worth living in a mine for." 

Katya laughs, "That's dark, mama. Dark." 

"It's a fucking mine!" Trixie yelps back. 

Trixie is tall enough that she can sit on the bar stool and cross her legs at the ankles, letting her toes scuff gently on the floor. Katya isn't short but she's short enough to need to put her feet on the foot-bar. Katya badly wants to put Trixie's long legs over her shoulders. 

"How come you're on your own?" Katya asks. 

"I was out with the guys from the theatre, but they've all gone home. They have to be with their wives and kids, 'n so," Trixie pauses. "I looked up the Autostraddle guide to Boston and they say this is a good place to hook up." 

With a few drinks inside her, Trixie's 'th' sound turns into a 'd'. Katya finds it unusual, but charming. Trixie keeps slipping off her stool and bouncing herself back on it with her toes, making her tits bounce. 

"I'll get another! What are you drinking?" Trixie leans over and seizes Katya's drink, sips it. 

"That's just pop!" Trixie wags a finger in Katya's face. 

"I don't drink much," Katya says quickly. "So how are you finding Boston? I didn't know you lived in JP." 

"I don't, I'm in Cambridge on a four-month lease." 

Trixie flags down the bartender. They're an androgynous person with pastel pink hair and an undercut on one side. Trixie tells them how pretty their hair is, and they blush under Trixie's gaze. Katya knows how overwhelming it is to have all that force directed at them. 

"So, you're in a hooking up mood?" Katya asks. The bartender looks over hopefully from where they are fixing another person's drink. 

Trixie looks down and starts swirling her ice with her straw. Trixie's thick lashes are like little smudges of charcoal on her face, and Katya feels like a dirty old woman for asking. She starts pulling at the thin flaps of skin either side of her nails as she casts around for a different question to ask Trixie. 

"Lighting, then, what's that like?" Trixie looks up and Katya is surprised anew at her eyes. In the dim light of the club her eyes shine like mercury. Which suits her, Katya thinks. Trixie sits up straighter and crosses her legs with one thigh over her knee. Katya's mouth goes dry when she sees her full, plush thigh laid out like that. 

Trixie smiles, "I love it. You control the tone of the piece with light. You can direct the eye. Add tension, fear, warmth, sensuality. You create foreground, background. You put ideas into the audience's heads. You can make someone look evil, or saintly." 

Her enthusiasm is infectious, she's speaking with her hands and is leaning so close in Katya's space that she can smell the alcohol on her breath. It's been a long time since she's spoken to someone with as much passion for what they do. 

"So how'd you get into it?" 

"I went to college for musical theatre and dance. I realised I didn't want to do that whole audition, waiting, call-back cycle. I didn't want my relatives asking about my 'big break' every Thanksgiving." 

"And now you're living your dream!" Katya couldn't be more thrilled for the young woman in front of her. 

"Sure. I mean, my girlfriend left me, my shit's still in storage, my old flatmates are fucking getting their lives eating dead animal carcasses without me." 

Katya laughs, but feels a grappling panic at the responsibility she's been given. She tries to remember the script from one of the counselling courses she has done at the centre. 

"It sounds like even though you are enjoying professional success, you may feel that it is out of balance with other parts of your life." 

Trixie's face crumples, goes soft and tender. 

"You know, I went to my doctor," she points at Katya. "I thought I had allergies." 

Trixie takes a long pull from her vodka soda and then slightly overbalances and catches herself on the bar again. 

"Plot twist. Depression!" She tilts her head, gives a wide smile that doesn't meet her eyes. 

Katya strokes the back of her hand, "Girl..." 

"So, how did you get involved in the centre?" 

Katya wants her to tell her. She wants to say how she started at NA, and stayed for some Russian lessons. She brushed up her French, kept going at NA. She got Ginger to let her offer a painting class to women at a local halfway house. She put little jars in every coffee shop in JP to pay for her paints and canvases. She loved talking to the women and hearing their stories. They'd put on a little exhibition of their work and Katya had taken a picture of every one of them standing by their paintings. She didn't brush her hair. She had a bucket of animal bones soaking in bleach by her front door. Ginger paid for her to do a yoga certification, and Katya had mown her front lawn for a year to pay her back. She got a new apartment. She told no-one her address. She found hundreds of little plastic baggies hidden all over her old apartment. She put them all in a shoebox to make something with someday. She sharpened all of her college quality pencils before she left. 

The South End dykes knew nothing of that. It was like growing bleach out of her hair. Every few months she was able to cut off a few of the nasty dry ends, and enjoy the fresh new hair. These days, she feels that the bleach is almost gone. 

But Katya doesn't say that. Katya says, "I wanted to learn Russian, and at the time they had a skill for skill swap. So I taught some yoga, and then we kept adding classes." 

Katya changes the subject, "What sort of dance do you do?" 

"Well I used to dance when I lived in Chicago, but I'm not sure I'll do that here. That was a bit of everything, but I love tap the most." 

"No fucking way!" 

"Yes! Come on, I'll show you - " Trixie pulls Katya out to the smoking area at the back. It's small and fenced off, low velvet sofas pushed against the outer wall. Small fairy lights hang low from where they are tacked up between the wooden fences. 

Trixie pulls up her skirt, wriggling her big hips from side to side to get the tight material up. She stands and waits for Katya's full attention. She holds one arm across her chest to support her breasts and bends one hand at the wrist beside her ear. 

"You have to pretend that I'm wearing tap shoes. Hold my glass." 

She begins to flap her feet, shuffling forward and back. Her blonde curls are bouncing, her arm can't quite keep her breasts down. She's laughing with her mouth open, she slaps her free hand across it. She shuffles round in a circle. Katya can see the crease where her ass meets her thigh. Katya wants to reach out and jiggle it, wedge her hand in it. Trixie wiggles and gives Katya a wink over her shoulder. Katya's fairly sure that she's looking at Trixie like she wants to do her some damage. But she can't help it, because she does. 

"Now you, come on," Trixie teases, wiggling her fingers. "Yoga woman has to have some moves. I want to see you spread your legs!" 

"You want side to side or front to back?" 

Trixie crows, "Ooh, whichever is going to hurt those pretty bendy legs the most!" 

Katya sets her ankles and lets her legs sink outwards either side of her body. She holds eye contact with Trixie all the way down. Trixie doesn't blink, breathes out roughly through her mouth. 

As she slides down to the bottom she pulls out her cigarettes and lights one. She bounces a little on her pussy, lets the smoke puff out of her with every bounce. 

Trixie uses the point of her shoe to kick the cigarette out of her hand, "Nuh-uh. Back inside." 

Katya springs back up, then bends down to pick up the quarter-smoked cigarette. Before she can grab it Trixie twists her heel into the butt and leads Katya inside. Katya tries to protest but Trixie's hand is broad and insistent on the small of her back. 

Trixie goes to the bar to get another drink. Katya walks closely behind her, her mouth is level with Trixie's shoulder blade. She wants to pull the lace down and bite it, leave a red mark on her tan skin. Katya's just been chewing on an ice cube that she picked out of Trixie's empty glass, and she breathes cold air on Trixie's shoulder as a warning shot. She leans up to do it again and feels the stretch in her calves. Trixie turns and gives Katya a slow smile and then swings back around to the bar, hitting Katya in the face with her curls. 

Katya grabs Trixie's ass with her two hands and groans as she squeezes, "Man, if you would come home with me I would fucking pound that keister." 

Trixie puts her obnoxious Valley girl voice back on. 

"I can't," she whines. "I'm on my period." 

Katya smiles with both rows of teeth, "Oh girl, I got my red wings a long time ago." 

Trixie screech laughs and slaps the bar with both hands. She turns and leans down to kiss Katya. She brings her hands to the back of Katya's neck, rubs the cords there. Her forearms are heavy on Katya's shoulders. Trixie's lips are soft and sure, and her wide nose squashes against Katya's sharper one. 

Katya firmly grabs Trixie's waist, pulls her in. Katya isn't used to kissing someone taller than her. She has to lean up to push her tongue as deeply into Trixie's mouth as she wants to. She wants to make Trixie's knees buckle. She is so focussed on getting Trixie to submit, that she doesn't notice her own little humming noises she's making into Trixie's mouth. 

Trixie starts pushing Katya away. Her mouth looks slick and swollen. She brings her fist up to her mouth and bites her thumb coyly. The club lights flash across her face. 

Katya pants lightly, leans their foreheads together. Her stomach suddenly sinks. She says, "I've got an awful feeling that your last T left 10 minutes ago." 

"Shit!" Trixie checks her app, "Fuck, I'm not paying for an Uber." 

"Stay at mine." 

Katya isn't quite sure why she suggests it. If there's something worse than showing a hot girl that your house looks like something off Hoarders, it's explaining that it looks that way because you only used to clean on a massive speed bender and you try and avoid that now. 

"Will I wake up with your pussy in my face?" Trixie asks. 

"No," says Katya. "This isn't your childhood home. Honestly, in my place you're more likely to wake up under a pile of small plastic hands and glass eyes." 

"I have literally lived with costume designers for the last seven years. Take me home." 

As they get further from the bar, Katya notices that Trixie is drunker than she thought. She is weaving all over the pavement, criss-crossing her legs and waving her arms about. Usually, Katya finds drunk people irritating; the only thing more repulsive is someone on coke. But somehow, Trixie is endearing herself to Katya even more. 

"This place is so...cute! So different from Chicago," Trixie gestures at the timber cladded New England style houses with their porches and their little gabled windows. 

Katya lights up another cigarette and wanders behind her, watching her ass. Trixie stops under a street light and starts tap dancing. Katya stalks towards her. Without speaking, she twists her fist into Trixie's long hair. She twists and twists until Trixie has to bend her knees and her neck. As soon as she bends enough that she's shorter than Katya, Katya gives her one hard kiss and removes her fist from her hair. She steps back. 

"You know," Trixie breathes, "The reason why I can't take someone home when I've been drinking is because I wake up like 'fucking errrmaghaaad, I fucking met my fucking wife! Call a U-Haul! Call the fucking cat sanctuary, we need a black one and a tabby!'" 

Katya chuckles and strokes Trixie's forearm softly. 

"Well, I'd hate to feel responsible for cats getting excited about getting adopted and then not getting a new home!" 

"That's so sad," whines Trixie, and she looks like she wants to cry. Katya gives her a quick kiss to cheer her up. 

Katya's place is a Boston style triple decker, with peeling turquoise paint over the timber cladding and a little porch with white balustrades. She's got the top, attic apartment and she pulls Trixie up the metal outdoor stairs at the rear of the house to her own front door. 

"Jesus, Katya," is the only thing Trixie really says about the mess in Katya's apartment. She spends a few minutes looking at the wall of old drawings that Katya's hung up. Trixie hums appreciatively while she follows the line work with her finger. She plays with the magnet that she got Katya from New York. Katya feels like her heart is in her mouth. 

The only light in Katya's living room is from one bulb hanging overhead. Trixie grimaces at it. She puts the torch on her phone, slides it across the floor underneath Katya's sofa until it reappears the other side. She picks Katya's mirror off the wall and lowers it behind the sofa, so now there's a soft glow reflected up at them. 

"Ta-da!" Trixie announces, "Now get that hideous light off and come sit here." She's kneeling on the sofa and Katya's top lip is sweating. She so badly wants to fuck Trixie but Trixie's drunk and she's sober. Katya takes a detour to the bathroom and grabs a collection of face wipes, Albolene, cotton wool pads and make up remover. She sits cross-legged opposite Trixie and lets her take her pick. They scrub at their faces in silence, and Katya feels herself cool down a bit. 

"So, I didn't know that you were an artist. My old flatmate Kim is an artist." 

Katya doesn't want to talk about her own art, and she's relieved when Trixie grabs her phone and finds her Instagram. She's a pretty, chubby, Korean girl and she's extremely talented. She's obviously some sort of designer, all her sketches are of swirling fairy tale gowns on leggy models. Katya knows immediately that she does not want to meet this person, for fear of feeling totally inadequate. 

"My other flatmate, Bianca, can make a dress in three minutes. In college we used to time her. For every second she was over we made her do a double tequila slammer." 

Trixie's tone is soft and wistful. 

"It sounds like you really miss them," says Katya. Trixie nods and cradles Katya's phone in her lap, still open on Kim's Instagram. 

"So," Trixie starts. "Who do you have around you?" Katya falters. 

"Well, there's Ginger and Violet at the centre. And my family are wonderful and not too far away, on the outskirts of Boston." 

Trixie nods encouragingly. 

She continues, "I, er, see my old college friends quite often." 

That's a lie, but Trixie sighs yearningly. 

"You come across as having such a warm vibe. I bet you spend, like, one evening with someone and they're like, damn, she's my best friend." 

Katya can't resist, "That's how I find my victims, Tracy." 

Trixie shrieks but it turns into a long yawn, "It's probably time for me to take my Celexa and go to sleep. Do you have something for me to sleep in?" 

Katya's tempted to give her one of her normal shirts to see it cling to Trixie's breasts and belly. Instead, she throws Trixie one of her old painting smocks. Katya digs her out some paracetamol, a spare phone charger, a glass of water, and a tiny matryoshka doll to keep her company. She trusts her doll to watch over Trixie as she sleeps. 

Katya wakes at her usual time of 6am. She almost stomps into the living room before she remembers Trixie. She does some yoga next to her bed to take her mind off the gorgeous woman stretched out on her couch. Eventually, she gives in to curiosity and has a peek around the door. Trixie doesn't stir. She's too tall for the couch, her long legs are thrown over the couch arm and her hand trails across Katya's floor. The sun is just creeping across Katya's living room, and Trixie's hair is glowing.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this one quick because nothing much happens!
> 
> For the record, I've never been to Boston and bear no ill will to Loyd Grossman.

Trixie has managed to twist herself into an extremely uncomfortable position half-on and half-off a dirty, squashy sofa. There are places where the red, woven material is threadbare and places where it's black and smooth with grease. She sits up and picks up the little wooden doll from the coffee table, turns it over in her hands. 

She grabs her phone and thumbs through to her group chat, _Chicago Bitches_. 

Trixie: _OK, so, I went home with the hot yoga teacher last night! No fucking, but only because I told her I was too drunk._

Bianca's reply is immediate. 

Bianca: _Pussy bitch._

Trixie: _I almost cried at her about missing you guys though. Pathetic. I feel like a douche._

Kim: _Did you make any weird step-dad jokes?_

Trixie: _Only one! I also avoided my fear of gorillas, my vintage Barbie collection and the fact that the only man in the world I'd fuck would be the step brother in Clueless. But only if he was actually my step-brother. But....I did tap-dance._

Bianca: _Christ, Mattel. You're an embarrassment._

From the other side of the door, Katya knocks softly. 

"Trixie, are you awake? I need to pee." 

Trixie feels a rush of warmth towards Katya as she tip toes like a cartoon cat burglar across the room in just a lace crop top and panties. Trixie smiles more when she hears Katya sigh loudly as she pees. The stream seems never ending and Trixie feels a bit bad for waking up so late. 

Trixie moves outside the bathroom. She says through the door, "Do you want to go to South End and pretend to be bougie dykes for the day?" 

Katya sounds like she has a toothbrush in her mouth, "Can you even try and pretend to be bougie if you're from Wisconsin?" 

Trixie bristles, "Oh yeah, I forgot I'm from up nort'. I was at the stop 'n' go one time, off to gey a bay-gel and a brat, eh? And I said to my friend, can you pull over at dat bubbler one time real quick because I forgot my pop, 'n' so?" 

Katya has definitely just accidently inhaled a wad of toothpaste, and is trying to snort it back out. Trixie is glad. 

"You know," Trixie continues. "When I was working in England, I saw there's a guy from Boston that has a whole range of pasta sauces. The TV commercial is just all about making fun of his accent because he sounds like such a Masshole cunt." 

Katya emerges from the bathroom and even though she's still irritated, Trixie's stomach flips a bit at Katya's goofy smile and the crinkles around her eyes. 

"That's a great idea," Katya says, ignoring Trixie's outburst. "We can do a gallery and get a veggie brunch." 

They agree that Trixie will go home and change, and they'll meet at a gallery that Katya suggests. Trixie wants to get out as soon as possible, she feels guilty for sleeping in on her one day off for the next three weeks. She didn't mean to drink so much or stay out so late. 

Katya is back in the bathroom, teasing her hair into a bun and clipping some fake flowers into it. Trixie steps in behind her and splashes her face with water. She shrugs off the loose smock and holds Katya's eyes in the mirror. She slept in her bra, it's very different from the heavy-duty bra that she wears to yoga. It's a light peach colour and the cups are a fine mesh with tiny peach polka dots. As she leans forward her breasts almost spill out of the cups. She knows the colour looks striking on her skin and the shadow of her cleavage is deep and inviting. Trixie looks at Katya's reflection and smiles when she sees how Katya's nostrils flare, and how her top lip goes stiff. 

Trixie wiggles back into her dress from last night. Katya is half-way buttoned into a black dress covered in folky embroidery. She's suddenly crowding into Trixie's space, bringing her hands up to the sides of Trixie's head. Trixie looks down at her full red lips. The rest of Katya's face is bare but her lips are fully lined and filled in. Katya surges against Trixie, more aggressive than last night. She's dragging Trixie down by the sides of her face and raking her teeth over Trixie's lips. 

"I haven't fucked a tall girl in a while," Katya rasps. 

Trixie whines and opens her mouth further, Katya licks into her mouth while gripping Trixie's head tightly between her palms. Trixie's wondering whether she should give up all hope of making the most of her day off and just take Katya to bed. 

She pulls back, "I need to go to mine to get ready. I can't stay here. I've got my heart set on a falafel burger somewhere where they only ever play Grimes or St Vincent." 

Katya walks her backwards to the door, kissing her as Trixie laughs into her mouth. 

They meet up outside the Copley T-stop. Trixie is taking advantage of the mild September weather to get one last wear out of her favourite sherbet lemon dress. She's wearing matching pumps and when she does a little spin for Katya she feels both her curls and the ruffles of her hem lift up. She's easily the tallest woman in the vicinity. She feels conspicuous and ridiculous but she can tell Katya likes Trixie playing at being her late-Summer dream girl. 

South End is charming. She loves the Victorian red brick buildings with their painted bay windows and wrought-iron railings. Katya is a charming date. She's bright, weird and interesting. They go to three small galleries and Katya has an opinion on everything. She gesticulates a lot at the work, and goes up on her toes to whisper urgently into Trixie's ear. 

Trixie doesn't get a falafel burger for lunch, but she does get a lentil and beetroot one. She texts a picture of it to Bianca to prove that she's eating somewhat healthily. 

Over lunch, Katya shows off her French and her Russian. She talks about growing up a gymnast, about her performance art in college and making her own jewellery. She's much less guarded than she was last night, and Trixie just likes watching her talk. The burger place does bottomless organic sodas and Katya makes sure that Trixie's cup is never empty, running back and forth to the pumps and mixing Trixie weird flavour combinations. 

Katya holds her hand on their way out of the restaurant. Digital Witness is playing. Trixie holds their hands up to examine the differences. Hers are much bigger but Katya's hand looks stronger, and the backs are tracked with raised veins. Her middle and index fingers are stained yellow from nicotine. The tendons in her wrists stick out, and her nail beds are totally wrecked. Trixie's hands are plump with long fingers and freckled backs. Katya tugs Trixie's shoulder down and hisses in her ear, "I'm going to fuck you with this hand." 

Trixie clenches, feels a pull deep inside her where she wants Katya to be. 

At five, Katya says she has to get back to the centre for breastfeeding yoga. 

"This is the first time a date has ever left me to go and stare at a whole room of tits." 

"They usually use slings when they're feeding," Katya replies. That was not the response Trixie wanted. She stares Katya down. 

"...and none are as pretty as yours, obviously." 

Trixie shunts Katya with her shoulder, "You stupid cunt."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same warnings here about talking about poor mental health, drug use and suicidal ideation.

That evening Trixie calls Katya. Katya hates long phone calls, and she spends most of it lowering herself into the splits over and over, or chewing the skin on her fingers, or jabbing the lid of a pen into her palm. 

Trixie doesn't seem to notice Katya's discomfort and merrily chirps her way through the phone call. Katya chooses to imagine Trixie laying on her back in the middle of a plush pink bed. She imagines pink, full panties with ruffles at the back. Katya knows Trixie is phoning from her immaculate, scratchless iPhone but Katya wants to imagine her twirling a long, pink telephone cord in her hand while she kicks her legs up in the air. 

Her voice is clear and relaxed on the phone, "I'm sorry. This is such a Virgo thing to do but I just wanted to say that really enjoyed today. Would you like to do it again sometime soon? I'm going away on Thursday for another three weeks. It's a co-production so we're going back to New York. I want to come to yoga again before I go and maybe we could get a bite to eat? I'm terrible at cooking so I just get take-out all the time, you could join me?" 

Katya isn't quite sure when she's going to be able to break in to the conversation. Trixie on the phone is like one of those freight trains that seemingly goes on for miles. Every time you think she's stopped she takes a breath and picks it up again. 

Katya is making silent screaming faces in the mirror. It's quite funny really, and she admires the directness that Trixie has. Katya could barely order in a restaurant until she was 25. 

Katya realises that Trixie is silent, and this is probably her opportunity to talk. Katya could give the honest answer. That she has been rendered incapable of a normal, loving relationship by drugs and mental illness. That Boston is too small for love affairs, and she doesn't need any more faces to avoid on the subway. She could say that girls find her quirky and charming until they face the reality of a relationship with her. Being woken up by Katya banging around and mumbling about conspiracy theories at 3am; Katya's drug induced memory blanks; public panic attacks; her need to avoid certain parts of the city; the fact that every time Katya fails at something she wants to die; that she can never enjoy something in moderation; that before she leaves the house she runs every possible scenario in her head like a computer programme. 

The other honest answer is that Katya wants Trixie enough to try. She wants Trixie using a drill, hanging upside down on a ladder. She wants to talk to Trixie about making meaning through the manipulation of the visible part of the electro-magnetic spectrum. She just as surely wants Trixie spread out on her bed in a pink silk robe. She wants to paint her toenails in iridescent coral and eat her out as they dry. 

Katya isn't often lost for words. 

Eventually she manages, "Trixie, uh. Yes. Today was really fun. I'm looking forward to teaching yoga when I don't have to desperately repress the urge to look at your ass." 

Trixie squeals and Katya imagines her squirming on the bed, her toes making creases in the covers. 

"Look - " She interrupts, and she isn't even sure what she's going to say. "I don't really date, Trixie. I find it difficult. But you're beautiful and funny and maybe you don't think I'm totally fucked in the head?" 

"No, no – I definitely do think that." 

Katya knows it's probably a joke but Trixie's voice sounds flat and serious and Katya's stomach twists. 

" - but I like it!" Trixie cackles down the phone at Katya and she can't help joining in. 

They talk for a while more, about New York and what they like to eat and where they buy their clothes and what toys they played with as children. 

"Goodnight, Katya." Trixie's voice is slow and dreamy. Katya wants to be the one that tucks the sheets around her shoulders and puts her phone on charge when she falls asleep with it in her hand. 

"I hope you have a good rest," Katya says, "And I hope you dream of a little ghost girl that shoplifts you that Barbie hairdresser toy you wanted just because she wants you to have it." 

Trixie yawns gently, and ends the call. 

Katya sits at her kitchen table in the dark. The fridge buzzes. It feels good that she could probably text Trixie again and Trixie would probably smile at her phone and either text her back straight away, or do it in the morning. She'd probably be happy to hear from Katya. The only other people she could text late at night would probably just assume she had relapsed or was about to jump off a bridge. 

Katya feels like there is a silvery thread unspooling from her across the city. She feels less alone, and slipping into the infinite nothingness seems less alluring. 

The next day, Katya can't wait to see that blonde head bob in the door. She's so ready for Trixie. She's going to breathe her in, eat her up. Her eyeliner is smoky and she's filled in her brows. She's wearing a tasseled shawl. She's full of energy. She twirls exuberantly, so the tassels spin out around her. By the time she finishes her rotation, Trixie is there. 

Trixie looks good. She's just wearing leggings and a pink t-shirt but her smile is so wide and her hair is so puffy and delightful. Katya wants to grab two big handfuls of it and kiss her senseless. 

She unrolls her pink mat directly in front of Katya and stares her down, waiting for her instruction. There's just a tiny quirk to her eyebrow to suggest lascivious thoughts. Trixie stretches the muscles in her back and shoulder, rotating her arms and making sure she gets an opportunity to shove her big chest forward. 

Katya does a little jump and a clap on the spot, and calls people into the welcome circle. 

"Hi, I'm the Buddhist Shakespeare's Sister Tribute Act, 'Namaste-With-Me', Trixie Mattel." 

Katya laughs loudly, lacing her arms together and twisting her arms up. "Oh, that's awful, mama. That's bad." 

"I'm going away for three weeks," Trixie continues. "But I'll definitely be back! Thanks for having me although I'm away with work a lot." 

The group nod and smile at Trixie, and wish her luck on her trip. 

Katya thinks that this session goes better than it ever has before. Katya feels calm and benevolent as she helps the room get into their poses. She helps Trixie, and Trixie grins at her from her upside-down position. It looks like she's eschewed her usual sports bra and her boobs have flopped forward. Katya wants to get underneath them like a mechanic under a car and let them fall soft and heavy on her face. Katya suggest the child's pose as a warm down and while everyone has their face pressed into the yoga mats, she takes the opportunity to drop a small kiss into Trixie's hair. 

At the end of the session, Trixie hangs around the reception. She's carefully studying all the notices pinned to the corkboard. Katya waits for a few minutes and follows her down. 

They go to a nearby cafe, the sort with adult colouring books and organic ketchup. Trixie waves Katya's purse away. She looks beautiful waiting to order at the bar while Katya guards their table. She's so tall and composed, blonde hair flowing down her back. She turns around and her eyes find Katya's immediately. 

Trixie's playing with the stem of the wine glass when she says, "I was thinking about how we didn't sleep together the other night and I just thought that maybe it's a good idea for us to wait to do it until I get back from New York? I really want to, but I need to make sure it's right, and I think anticipation can be sexy sometimes. We could plan something really special!" 

Katya is once again taken aback by her honesty. She's shaved and moisturised and wearing her nicest panties, but she can cope with waiting. She can't think of anything to say so she just nods and bends and kisses Trixie's other hand, where she's picking at the corner of the menu. 

Trixie tangles her hand in Katya's when she pulls her head back, and they stay like that until it's time for Katya to get the T back to Jamaica Plain. Trixie walks her to the stop, and leans down and kisses her. It's firm and decisive and Katya feels that she has to tug her hair a little to even the score. 

On the subway Katya counts the number of couples she sees. She decides that if it's an even number, maybe things will work out with Trixie. If she sees an odd number, she might as well give up now. She sees 16, and when she gets in she looks at her phone and sees she already has a text from Trixie. 

_Thank you again for tonight, I can't wait to see you in three weeks._

She's put a whole line of the heart wrapped in a ribbon emojis. Katya sends back the Statue of Liberty, the comedy and tragedy masks and two of the flamenco girls. 

The first two weeks go quickly. Katya keeps to her usual routine. She successfully doesn't think about Trixie until the 45 minutes between when Trixie finishes work and when Trixie has to go to bed. In that time, they text furiously and Katya doesn't think about anything other than Trixie. 

One lunchtime, Trixie texts and says she has an early finish. She asks Katya if she'd like to video call on Skype. Katya knows the implications of that, and she spends the rest of the afternoon clenching her thighs together. 

When she gets home she curls her hair with her ancient straighteners, wears her favourite black mesh body suit, stockings, red nails and lipstick. As she gets ready she's texting Trixie, they're getting all the chit-chat out of the way so they don't have to do it on camera. Katya's stomach feels squirmy and hot as they text about Trixie's disappointing lunch and the rented lights that haven't turned up yet. She settles her laptop on the coffee table and then curls herself into her deep tub chair, feeling like a cobra sitting on top of her coils. 

Finally, the bleeping incoming call tone starts. Katya accepts the call immediately. The camera on Trixie's iPad is facing the big hotel bed. The quilted bed head is drab and brown. Trixie has moved the two small lamps from the bedside table to the floor, and hung up some fairy lights from the insipid watercolour above the bed. 

Katya wants to tell Trixie just how bad she thinks the painting is, but then her eyes focus on Trixie herself and she falls into a reverent silence. Trixie is sat on the bed in a pink robe, ruffles flowing around her wrists. The picture isn't great, but Katya's fairly sure that Trixie is looking at her just as hungrily. Katya's not sure that she's ready to speak yet. 

It looks like Trixie has wrapped a Hitachi wand in a small hand-towel, and has propped it up on a pillow on the bed. Trixie lays down on her side and trails her fingers down her waist and thigh. She slowly rolls over on to her front and pulls the robe off. Underneath, she's bare. 

Katya is struck dumb by the curve of her ass. Katya wants to bite the soft flesh of her belly that she can see pressed into the pillow. There's a crease between her back and her waist from where she's pushed herself up to lean on her elbow. Katya wants to bite that too. Katya can't see much of her boobs but she can where they're bulging out to the side, too big to be contained by the mattress. 

Trixie reaches down and the wand starts whirring. Within a few seconds she's canting her hips down onto the towel. 

Trixie laughs breathily, "Hi." It's the first thing either of them has said since they started the call. Trixie is moving her hips down in smooth, steady rolls. 

"Hi," replies Katya, mesmerised. She remembers that she should probably do something. She cross-uncrosses her legs and, in the middle, she holds her legs straight up to show off. She knows that the muscles in her thighs will be tensed under her fine, silky thigh-highs. 

"Your legs. Fuck – Katya. God." Trixie huffs out, still moving her hips. 

Katya smirks and blows a raspberry, trails one red-clawed hands over her tits. 

"Yes, that's it," breathes Trixie. She's moving into the bed faster now. Her ass is rippling. 

Katya runs her hand down her body. She can feel her pert, brown nipples hardening under the body suit. She uncurls her legs and plants her feet on the edge of the deep chair. She slips her fingers under the gusset of her body suit. She's beginning to get wet. She lets her fingers drift down to her entrance, where it's seeping out of her. She gathers her wetness with her fingers and draws it upwards. 

Katya starts by rubbing her fingers firmly either side of her clit, and over the hard root under the skin. She shifts her hips back and forward in the chair. The whole situation is a bit too anxiety provoking to be fully arousing, but Trixie is making all kinds of appreciative noises. 

"Let me – oh! Let me see you," moans Trixie. Katya can't stop looking at Trixie's slightly pixelated face. Katya breaks open the tiny poppers on her body suit. 

She likes her pussy. It's not even, and when she sits like this her inner lips protrude out. But she likes that they are dark to match her nipples. 

When she sees Katya exposed, Trixie seems to lose the strength in her shoulders and she falls face-first into the bed, arms outstretched above her head. 

"What do you want to do with it?" Katya purrs. She's stroking her clit lightly, tilting her fingers at different angles so it doesn't get too sensitive too quickly. Her heart is beating rabbit fast in her chest. She scissors her fingers horizontally so Trixie can see how her labia glisten when she moves them. 

Trixie rubs her face into her pillow, then drags her head up. Her eyes look wild, her lips parted and swollen. She's licking them. 

"I want to lick you – fuck. I want...I want..." She trails off, biting her own lips. 

"Yes, I think I'd let you do that." Katya's glad that her inability to fully relax is allowing her the presence of mind to sound cool and composed, as it seems to be getting Trixie off. 

"Please?" Trixie whimpers. Katya rubs faster. She's not sure if Trixie can hear the sucking sound her cunt is making, but she can, and it's making her rock her hips. 

Trixie suddenly rears up, and her breast escapes and rolls to the side. Katya wants to bite it. 

"If I was there," says Katya, "I'd be fucking you so hard." 

"Would you?" Her voice is high and nasal now. 

"Yes, if I came in I'd just put my knees either side of yours and bend over you - " 

"Yeah - " Trixie interrupts, fully talking out of her nose now. Her mouth is open and panting. 

"I'd bring my hand down between your legs, swipe my fingers over you and then push inside you." 

Trixie shouts like Katya's actually done it. 

"Come on, let me see it. I want to see what you look like when you get fucked. Is that what you want?" 

Trixie is rutting against the pillow with her teeth gritted now. 

"Don't you want to show me?" Katya tries again. Trixie sits up, gathers her robe and slips it over her shoulders. Trixie blinks and that desperate, fogged-up look falls away. She points a finger at the camera and winks. 

"You're a bad woman, Katya." She takes a sip of water from a glass on the nightstand, and pads over to her suitcase. Katya sees Trixie pull out a pink silky pouch from in between the clothes. 

Katya laughs as she continues to rub her clit lightly, "You actually keep them in the pouches? I always lose mine within the first week!" Trixie rolls her eyes at Katya and walks back over to the bed. 

This time, she lies on her back and her boobs fall to the side. Katya is looking at her shell pink nipples so intensely that she misses when Trixie slips the dildo inside her. But she doesn't miss the gasp. Suddenly, Katya is prickling all over. She can't keep the tension in her thighs anymore and lets her legs fall to the floor. Her hips shunt forward in the chair and she slouches in the seat, pawing at herself. It's not a good look but she's not sure that Trixie is capable of watching her any more. 

Trixie is fucking herself in hard strokes that make a hollow sort of thunk as they bottom out. But she can't keep her momentum up. She averages just three or four strokes before she lets her hand fall to the side for a few seconds. Her other hand is rubbing her clit, but that looks pretty erratic too. 

"If I was there I'd be jamming that inside you so fucking hard." 

Trixie yelps and her body convulses. She throws her head back on the pillows and her hips bounce once, twice, three times before stilling. 

Katya's orgasm is a sharp one that is over almost as soon as it starts. She's too worked up and in too awkward a position to give in properly. Usually after sex, she feels a bit lonely but even though she's alone in her apartment she doesn't feel lonely at all. 

Trixie has shifted forward on the bed, pulling the sheets around her. Her hair is a messy, matted halo and her face is as wholesome as a milkmaid's. Katya sits for a few minutes, just staring through the screen at Trixie, watching as the flush in her cheeks dies down and their breathing comes back to normal.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going for a mega update now as I've had nothing to do this weekend and the weather has been terrible.
> 
> I'm up to date with what I wrote in my notebook to begin with, so updates might be slower now.

The last week passes slowly for Trixie. She has tired of the vegetarian catering that ranges from the bizarre to the pathetic. She doesn't want to wear any more black. She is bored of her colleagues, and of the show itself. 

When she was a child she was allowed to open her gifts on Christmas morning before Church. She hated having to leave them behind while her mom and step-dad drove the family endlessly through the snowy woods for the Christmas day service. She used to try and focus her mind on the little helpless baby in the manger, but all she wanted to do was go home and brush the hair of her new doll. Trixie felt like that about Katya. She'd been allowed to peel back the paper but she hadn't even begun to unpick her present from the plastic clamshell around it, or untwist those little plastic ties. 

Trixie fell hard. She wished that she didn't, and hated herself for falling into that stereotype. She tended to be decisive about most things, shopping was an easy process for Trixie. The problem was that, unlike a new dress, a woman could take herself back to the store at any time. It was why she had made herself maintain that physical barrier with Katya for the first month. She wasn't sure if it was the long stretches she spent away from home, her murky family history or her fucking Wisconsin accent, but no-one seemed to stick around for very long. 

Since her last relationship ended, Trixie had been feeling flat and lacking in motivation. Out of necessity she had mustered the strength to move to Boston, but she still hadn't unpacked. Her fridge lay empty, and her wine consumption was greater than she'd like. She was dogged by a feeling that whatever she tried was doomed to failure. Her colleagues had encouraged her to try something new. She had given yoga a go, and was lucky to have met Katya. But she can't help wondering how long it'll be before something inevitably goes wrong. 

Trixie stops herself, and reminds herself of the worksheets that her primary care physician had printed out for her. She must step back, and examine the evidence for her worries. She thinks of the weird little texts she gets from Katya, the pictures of interesting graffiti or of a new pair of pyjamas that she's made herself. Trixie thinks of their Skype session the other night, Katya's legs thrown over the sides of her chair while she rubbed herself and moaned. Trixie accepts that all the evidence suggests that things are going well at the moment. 

The highlight of the little tour had been Bianca's visit. Her and Kim had hoped to fly in to NYC, but Kim couldn't get away from work for long enough. In the end, the Provincetown dates had been better for Bianca and she'd flown in with a promise to take Trixie to get wasted and head to a gay club, just like old times. Trixie had picked her up at the airport, pulling Bianca's slim frame into a bear hug. 

After the show, Trixie's colleagues went to a sports bar and Bianca and Trixie gave them the slip. They'd gone back to her room to discuss the show, putting their make up on while Bianca enthused about the set and the costumes. Bianca was sat on the bed with a bottle of bourbon between her knees. Like always, she was furiously blending eyeliner into the crease of her eye while her acid mouth ran at a mile a minute. After they'd both had a couple of swigs of whisky, Trixie couldn't resist showing Bianca Katya's Instagram. It was the centre's account rather than Katya's own, but she posted plenty of videos of herself talking animatedly about yoga and bending herself into various poses. Bianca tolerated three before miming putting her head into a noose. 

Trixie laughed, "No, come on, one more! This one has the pose she was in when she was fucking jerking off for me on Skype!" 

Bianca roars, "And what were you doing when she was doing that, Miss Shirley fucking Temple?" 

Trixie just laughs and throws her blusher brush at Bianca. 

Bianca looks smoking, all dramatic eyes and sweeping neckline. Trixie wants to get as far away from her workwear as she can, so she ends up in a ridiculous, iridescent pink dress. It's high necked and long sleeved, but makes up for it by barely covering her ass. They try a 'rainbow of shots' in the first bar they go to, and Bianca ends up passionately tonguing a woman that looks a lot like Solange. 

Trixie passes the time playing pool with a couple of short butches visiting from Pittsburgh. The music is pounding, and Trixie feels giddy as she sneaks off to the bathroom to send Katya a selfie. She tugs her neckline down and uses her elbow to push her tits up. She tilts her jaw up and away from the camera in a way she looks casually debauched. She isn't sure what to caption it so just sends it with a few of her favourite heart emojis.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: Again, there are some references to drugs and poor mental health. Katya also relays an experience of indecent exposure as an adolescent in a flippant way. 
> 
> Thank you to my irl lighting designer consultant for help on vocab for this, including sending me pictures of her current set box.

Katya hadn't quite known what to say when Trixie sent her a selfie from a P-town bathroom. She hadn't wanted to come across as possessive, and she'd wanted Trixie to let her hair down and enjoy her visit from Bianca. However, she also wanted to push Trixie down onto the grimy floor and force her to lick Katya, make the bathroom ring out with Katya's shouts. She wanted to crash their lips together afterwards, taste herself on Trixie's lips and growl _'mine.'_

They had text back and forth for the rest of the evening. Katya hoped she gave the impression of an elegant, bohemian lifestyle. In reality, all she had done that evening was smoke six cigarettes and jerk off to try and stave off a panic attack.

But now, Katya was going to surprise Trixie. She had picked out her favourite dress, a mid-calf length patchwork of folky patterns, sewn on mirrors and tiny pom-poms around the sleeves. She pulls on her wooden-soled clog boots, the vintage leather butter soft around her calves. She'd done a shimmery, silvery eye that brought out the Monet-greens in her eyes. On top of her wild hair she perched a little red hat with a gold trim, and she was pretty happy with the way it was all looking.

Katya had been taken to the old Colonial Theatre a lot as a child. She admired the grand chandeliers but she was always privately quite glad to get outside and into the free space of the Boston Common. Trixie's theatre was a lot more modern. The facade of the building was a Gehry like construction of silver plates layered over each other. It made Katya think of what a long exposure shot of some mermaids leaping from the water might look like. The foyer was long and sparse, with white marble reflecting the lights overhead and low, metal framed couches that looked anything but comfy.

The woman on the counter is haughty and disinterested, and Katya thinks that she really must suggest to Violet that she should apply here if she's ever looking for a job. She directs Katya to the back of the theatre. As she rounds the corner she sees that a big white van has just pulled in to the dock of the theatre. The passenger door swings open, and Katya sees Trixie's blonde hair immediately. It's frizzier and more unkempt than Katya has seen it so far, and it's loosely manipulated into two braids.

Trixie's strong arms swing her out of the cab of the van, but she's so tall her toes almost reach the floor already. The driver is a woman too, dark and petite. She has to jump from the cab and Katya hears Trixie laugh at the way the driver launches herself out of the door and flail as she lands. Trixie is wearing a black shirt and black cargo shorts. They're flecked with paint and a large pen knife sticks out of one pocket.

The two women embrace, laughing. Katya thinks back to the defensive way Trixie had come across at her first yoga session, and is glad to see how carefree she looks when she spins the smaller girl around in a circle. The driver disappears and Trixie walks around to the back of the van, where she finally spots Katya. Katya immediately wants to throw up on her feet with anxiety, but Trixie lights up and runs towards her.

Katya can't think what to say. She goes for, "It's fucking weird to see you dressed up like an actual dyke."

Trixie squeals and punches Katya hard on the arm. "Say that when Betty gets back, she'll fucking cut you down to size."

"Yeah, her size! Watching you hug was like watching that scene where Gandalf and Frodo are talking in the Shire. I wasn't sure who was supposed to be the size of a real human!"

"Oh my _God_ you actual -" Trixie pulls the hat off Katya's head and swipes her with it.

She sheepishly hands the hat back to Katya, "Sorry. I, uh, get a bit hyper after a tour. There's always a big adrenaline rush."

Katya gets a flashback to bombing speed at her final college show, the little paper twist disintegrating in her stomach. She felt effervescent, talking to her parents and her lecturers about her work. Most times she couldn't look her lecturers in the eye, let alone explain her creative process. It was amazing what a little chemical nudge could do. The next day her parents had driven her home with thin lips, and a friend had text to check if she was okay. Apparently everyone had thought she had been 'strung out and weird.'

"I get it," says Katya. She takes Trixie's hand. She finds every part of Trixie's face a pleasure to look at.

"Did you bring your overnight bag?" Trixie asks.

Trixie had text Katya two nights ago to invite her over for her first night back in Boston. As Katya had come to expect, Trixie had explicitly stated that she wanted Katya to stay the night.

Katya had anxiety-packed some nice lingerie, a strap on with a couple of different sized attachments, two sets of spare clothes, an emergency tampon, her good moisturiser, her yoga mat, a couple of Ginger's Xanax, and a handful of CDs.

Katya nods, and enjoys the smirk that creeps over Trixie's face. Trixie squeezes her hand hard.

"I've got my car," she says. "I need to take some work stuff home so let's just take it all together."

She opens the van.

"Fuck," says Katya. It's full to the brim with shit – Katya isn't even sure how to categorise it. Katya sees some promising heaps of fabric at the back, piled on top of a writing desk. Trixie easily jumps up into the van and starts rooting around. She lobs Katya a bag full of wires, electrical tape and cable ties.

"These are mine. Can you just put them by my bag while I chuck you other some stuff?"

She brings a black light with square flaps around it to the edge of the van, "This is called a fresnel. I need to take it back to the rental place over the next couple of days. It's a one kilowatt so be careful."

Katya's arms are wiry and strong from yoga, but she still grunts and shudders as she lifts the lamp. Trixie's arms look fleshy and soft, but now she's looping thick black cable around them like they're as light as spaghetti. She secures the cables with a roll of tape she takes from her pocket.

She heaves the cables over to Katya, "This is heavy. We need to put it on the bottom of the car with these par cans on top." She nudges two small lamps with her foot.

Trixie opens up a flight case, "Right, there are two profiles in here." She lifts out two more lamps, this time black and skinnier than the others.

Trixie pushes a trolley over to Katya, "Can you start to pack my car for me, hon? It's that silver one over there. I just need to grab my set box."

Suddenly Katya is left alone with a woman's car keys; a woman that might be her girlfriend and calls her pet names. Katya turns and see Trixie's plaits swinging as she disappears through the door.

"Awh, has she just left you here? I'll help!" The hobbit is back, lifting the lamps confidently into Trixie's car. Jesus, Katya thinks, what do these bitches get fed in drama school?

"Betty," The hobbit says, holding out her hand for Katya to shake. She's pretty, she reminds Katya of Streisand in Funny Girl.

"I've only worked with Trix these last two months, but she's very talented," Betty continues. Katya isn't sure what to say so she just nods.

"You must be the girl she started seeing half-way through? She's seemed a bit happier recently, a bit more settled."

Katya hums in reply, hefts another box into the trunk.

Betty hands Katya a large, pink toolbox, "This is Trixie's toolbox."

"It certainly looks like it," says Katya.

"Yeah, the guys all rip into her about it but she'd kick their asses in any category. Put it at the top, she'll want to know she's got it or she'll start driving back to check. You know what she's like."

Katya isn't sure that she does really know what Trixie's like, but she carefully places it on the back seat, where the rear-view mirror will reflect it.

Betty is lifting a box of shoes onto her shoulders, walking away. As she disappears into the other door she shouts cheerily, "You make a striking couple! You should come over for dinner with my wife and I some time."

Katya feels a bit dizzy. She reasons that it must be from lifting all that heavy shit into the trunk of the car. She leans her back against the metal, tries to steady her breath.

She's still there when Trixie re-emerges, arms laden down with more boxes but with a face like sunshine. The grip on Katya's heart seems to lessen.

Trixie doesn't shut the trunk straight away. She pokes around, moving some of the lights that Katya has packed away. Katya knows she must have done something wrong or broken something expensive. She starts wrapping her bag strap tight around her fingers. After what feels like forever, Trixie slams the trunk shut and gets in the driver's seat.

"Sorry," Trixie says. "I hear being with a Virgo has its benefits eventually. I'm just a bit fussy. I really appreciate you putting my toolbox there."

"All set?" Trixie is pulling her hair out of its plaits and putting on some lipstick. She reaches for Katya's fist where it's balled up against her thigh. She picks it up and looks at it, smirks, and lets it fall back down.

Forty-five minutes later and they're still in central Boston. Katya had whimsically suggested that they drive over the Longfellow Bridge to see the Fall leaves against the river, but it seems that it might have been a bad suggestion.

Katya feels a bit guilty, but she doesn't mind being in the car. She keeps looking over at Trixie's gorgeous face and the way she controls the car with complete confidence. She can't resist running her hand up and down Trixie's thigh.

The bridge does look beautiful. The arches are perfectly reflected in the water, and the grey towers along the bridge are bathed in rose gold light.

"When I was a kid I used to call those pepper pots. I mean, everyone does, not just me. But I used to love it when my parents drove this way."

"I am so jealous that you grew up here. When I was a kid it was an hour's drive to the nearest McDonalds," she says.

"When I was a girl I went to Catholic School," Katya starts, not really sure why she's telling this story. "We had these stupid little boater hats. After school me and my friend used to just ride loops on the T. There was this guy who used to get on at Harvard Square and he'd always be fully pulling the padge."

Katya wheezes with laughter, remembering the way that Fiona had shouted, _"If that's all you've got, you should put it away!"_ Katya remembers Fiona pulling her down the stairs into the T-stop, the gust of hot sooty air that would hit them at the bottom of the stairs. How she would always fall back on her heels, holding her hat, as the subway carriages flew past her. She was so scared of those underground monsters, scared of falling on to the track, scared off getting off at the wrong station. Fiona had always seemed so fearless.

Trixie makes a face, "That sounds fully disturbing. One time up nort' my grandpa took me down the field to see two of his cows fucking."

They were on the other side of the bridge now, but still stuck in traffic.

"I have some CDs," Katya says, groping in her bag. She's embarrassed by the state of her CDs now she's in Trixie's pristine car. Most of the hinges have snapped off, the plastic cases cloudy with scratches and bits of the sleeve had been torn off long ago to make roaches.

"Christ, you brought CDs? How old _are_ you? My car has Bluetooth. I haven't even bought a CD in five years!"

Katya starts stuffing them back in her bag.

"No, no, come on – let me see."

The traffic on hold, Trixie grabs them back. She shuffles through them and starts throwing them one by one back to Katya.

"I think this was the soundtrack of two of my break-ups with straight girls at high school."

"My grandmother has this - "

Trixie smirks and pats Katya's knee, "Honey, I already believe that you're gay."

"You'd have to be on drugs to listen to this," Trixie laughs at her own joke and Katya lets her gaze slide out of the window.

"Ooh, this is good." Trixie takes Katya's ancient copy of _The Teaches of Peaches_ and slides it into the CD slot, "You're popping my car's cherry!"

Trixie starts tapping the beat on her steering wheel, and Katya remembers what Trixie invited her over to do. She takes in the way Trixie's big thighs spread out on the seat, the golden hair twisting over her shoulders, her pink grin. Katya feels a bit more confident. She's always been good at seduction, and she can feel herself pulsing as the car rumbles over the road.

Katya knows Cambridge well, she remembers coming to visit her parents at their offices. She's still impressed by the double fronted, ivy coated building that Trixie parks up outside of.

"We can leave most of this here, but I want my set box," Trixie grabbed Katya's bag and her own toolbox, and leaves Katya following behind with the scale model of the theatre balanced in her arms.

While Katya found the outside of Trixie's building warm and welcoming, Trixie's apartment was anything but. It was open plan, white and sparse. There were only a few hints that anyone lived there at all. Most of the living room was taken over by large stacks of carefully labelled plastic boxes.

Trixie suddenly seemed a bit lost and confused, hovering in the white tiled kitchen. She wrapped her arms protectively around her middle, a little frown between her eyes.

"Come here," says Katya, and makes short work of the distance between them. She cups Trixie's face in her hand, her cheeks plump and hot against Katya's palms. When Katya kisses her, Trixie kisses back urgently. Katya kisses forcefully enough that eventually Trixie's mouth goes slack against hers, and she starts making little humming noises into Katya's mouth. Trixie pulls away and looks a bit dazed, holding on to Katya's biceps.

"Can I get you a drink?" Trixie asks, gesturing to the fridge. Trixie's got a box of wine, some Wisconsin beers and a bottle of sparkling water with pomegranate juice that's masquerading as rose wine.

Katya's eye is taken by a framed photograph of some trees by a lake, "Where's this?"

"Oh, it's in the Northwoods in Wisconsin," Trixie says while fixing their drinks. Trixie pours herself a wine and Katya has a "wine."

"It's beautiful," she says.

"I told you, I'd have rather grown up in a city, 'n' so?"

Katya senses that Trixie doesn't want to discuss it, and she wanders back over to the set box and peers in. It’s a scale model of the theatre made of wood, painted in matte black. Inside is some tiny doll's house furniture styled like an old aunt's house. It's set out on three levels and at the back there's a very intricate frame like a pointed window, in front of a mini LCD screen.

"What's it for?"

"The designer makes them to check what the set looks like, and I can use it to see how my lights look. I can pop in a little torch with a gel and see what the colours are like. I moved to Boston because this director I work with a lot is Artistic Director here now, and she wanted to keep her creative team. Basically, I'll be getting to know this space very well. The next production is probably going to be like a long prism going to the back of the stage, with little ridges built in to the walls. I already know it's going to bust my balls because they want to use water on the set as well."

Katya loves the way Trixie talks about her work. She looks relaxed now, leaning over the box and pointing out where she put the lights for this production, and what a pain it was to move the set around to the different theatres.

On the cabinet next to the TV there are three Barbie dolls all propped up on stands. Katya wants to make Trixie laugh so she picks one up and moves her up and down the stage like a model.

Trixie stands back immediately. She touches her fingers to the bridge of her nose, laughs, and then lets her hand fall back to her side.

"Sorry," says Katya. "Should I not...?"

"No, no, it's fine!" Says Trixie, brightly.

Katya bends the hips of the doll so she can sit on the large dining table with her legs spread.

Trixie winces and says, "Actually, can you...not?"

Katya immediately puts the Barbie back on her stand and straightens her dress.

"Childhood favourite?" Katya asks, feeling vaguely put out by Trixie assuming she'll break it.

"No, that's the one I got after my first year in college. We could never afford them when I was a kid. After I got my first job I started to save up and buy vintage ones to celebrate things I'd achieved. Oh -" Trixie interrupts herself, "I've got an idea!"

Trixie digs into a plastic box near her.

"Do you have a Boston one yet?" Trixie looks at Katya for a few seconds before answering, "No, not yet."

Trixie finally pulls out a zip-lock bag and spills out a vast quantity of tiny plastic dolls. They were nowhere near as pristine as the Barbies. Some had hair that had obviously been butchered by a child, or marker pen scribbled over their clothing.

"When I was small I had these instead, they're from the old Happy Meals."

Katya holds one up. It's a tiny blonde doll with almost no facial details, and a three tier white and pink plastic wedding dress.

Katya marvels, "It's hideous!"

"She's not!" whines Trixie, snatching the doll back and cradling her.

They have a childish few minutes where they try and put together a girl band featuring themselves, and fit them on the stage. Katya can't quite believe she's doing this on a date, but she likes the way that Trixie's laugh rings around the empty flat. Trixie is lying on her front with her legs crossed at the angles. She's a 90s dream girl, her big breasts pressed in between her elbows.

For herself, Katya picks a Barbie wearing a blue jumpsuit on ice-skates, while Trixie goes for a Barbie in a tropical print bikini top and pink wrap. Katya likes to think their band has a bit of a Le Tigre vibe.

Trixie phones a Thai takeaway and orders two portions of pad thai, one king prawn and one tofu. She tosses Katya her iPhone and shouts, "Go on DJ Zamo, pick us something!"

Katya picks her favourite Kate Bush album and skips to the second song. She can't resist springing up and mouthing along to the _'It's in the trees! It's coming!'_ intro.

Trixie takes her phone back and exclaims, "Oh, this album cover is so beautiful! Look what I can make my lights do!"

She swipes on her phone a couple of times, and the uplighters against the white wall turn rose and lilac. They match the colours of the album precisely. Katya shimmies over to where the light fans out. She hams it up, miming throwing shoes into a lake; then lets herself fall into a back-bend only to spring back up again. She twirls and twirls and twirls, jumps across her make-shift stage. She clutches her chest and grabs the air as she squats down and whirls around.

Trixie sits on her kitchen stool, whooping and clapping. The apartment is again ringing with her shrieking laugh.

Katya is well attuned to how her muscles work. She knows how her joints feel when she comes down from a three-day bender, when her mouth is dry and her muscles shake. She knows how she feels when she's been doing yoga all day, her limbs feel tired but loose and sated. But she isn't ready for the onslaught of Trixie, seven inches taller and a good few pounds heavier, launching herself at Katya. She stumbles back with the weight of her and grabs on to Trixie's back to steady them.

The doorbell goes, and Trixie puts Katya down to collect their food. She waves away Katya's crumpled bills. Katya levers off the paper lids and her face is hit with both the steam and the fragrant smell of lemongrass.

Neither of them use chopsticks. Katya adds extra chillies to hers, and flicks all her mushrooms on to Trixie's. Trixie's long legs end up thrown over her lap.

After they've eaten, Trixie disappears for a shower. She showers with the door open, and the smell of her jasmine shower gel gradually fills the apartment. The windows fog up. Katya's fingers tingle with anticipation.

She reappears in the silk robe she had with her in the hotel room. Her hair is loose, weighed down and straightened by the water. Her face looks pink and scrubbed clean. Trixie has her thighs pressed together and her foot bent outwards, like Botticelli's Venus re-imagined for a 60s Playboy shoot.

"I didn't invite you over here to play with my Barbie dolls," Trixie whispers from the doorway. She plucks at her dressing gown tie.

Katya is there in seconds. Kissing Trixie is overwhelming, her cool damp skin and the rich scent of her shower gel taking over her senses. Katya backs her into the bedroom, buries her head in Trixie's neck until she feels dizzy, and then pulls back. Trixie's eyes are shining, her cheeks are flushed. Katya feels sweaty and even though she's wiped her hands with her complimentary lemon sachet from the take-out, she suspects her fingers still smell of prawns.

Trixie is soft and solid underneath her. She can't wait to gorge herself on touching it. She feels the throb of her pussy, and helplessly ruts her hips against Trixie's. She's so short in comparison, her toes just brushing Trixie's calves. She has to fuck her.

Trixie undoes her robe, and lets Katya loose on her boobs. Her areolas are puffy, her nipples flat. The skin looks fragile, the blue veins visible. Katya gives them a gentle kiss. She knows that as soon as Trixie's nipples harden her areola will become puckered and wrinkled.

Katya cups Trixie's breasts together and lets them go, like she's drinking water from a river. She enjoys the slight bounce as they fall back. She wedges her face underneath them. They're heavy and she can slap her own mouth with them, making a blunt noise.

"Christ," breathes Trixie, "You're not going to be one of those weirdos that names them are you?"

Katya laughs, and Trixie picks her moment to smash Katya's head in between her tits. Katya spends an exhilarating few seconds enveloped in an airless bubble. When Trixie lets Katya surface she's laughing at Katya gasping for air. Katya gives her a dark look. She lets her top lip go stiff and slowly, very slowly, smiles with all of her teeth. Katya feels the hair on Trixie's arms rise.

She lowers her head and starts trailing kisses down Trixie's body, stopping to blow a raspberry on her stomach. Trixie squirms and pinches her own nipple, "I'm – fuck, getting desperate already."

Katya lingers on her belly for a while, pressing soft kisses to the swell of it. She takes her weight on her elbow to loosely saw her fingers back and forth between Trixie's legs.

She can feel Trixie's pubic hairs are getting damp. But Katya makes no move to actually separate or move inside Trixie's labia.

"Kat – Katya please."

Trixie's hips raise up but Katya only rewards her by pushing her hips firmly into the bed. Katya kisses her way down the crease where the curve of her belly meets the top of her pubic hair. Trixie keens, bends her knees up instead.

Katya uses her nose to firmly press into Trixie's pubic bone, her blonde hair rough and tickly against Katya's nostrils. When Katya gets to the little 'w' where her two labia meet, Katya pushes her tongue in, keeping it firm and tense. She feels the change in temperature and texture immediately. Trixie's head shoots off the bed. She's miles away from Trixie's clit but she wants to make sure Trixie is paying attention.

Trixie's hair is drying quickly in the warm apartment, and little baby hairs are plastered to the sides of her head. Her eyes look wide and somehow younger than before. Maybe she's only just now fully realised that Katya is thirty-five and not always the whimsical yoga teacher that everyone confides in. Katya knows how to make a woman cream immediately, or how to drag the pleasure out like buoys on a line.

Katya puts her hands on Trixie's thighs, her fingers making little indents. Trixie whines, rocks her hips from side to side. Katya keeps her face where it is, and her nose gets wet as Trixie's cunt brushes over her face.

Katya flattens her tongue, lets it get soft and relaxed in her mouth. She drags it up the whole length of Trixie's vulva. She moans as she does it, she wants to do it again and again. She indulges herself with it, moving her head like a snake. Trixie lets out a deeper, rumbling moan and then claps her hand across her mouth. Above her hand, her eyes are wide like a deer's.

Katya gently prises her hand away.

"No, Trixie. Come on. How can I know what feels good if I can't hear you?" She keeps her voice low and smooth. She's pretty sure her own cunt will be making a puddle underneath her.

Trixie's vulva is pink and plump. Her mons is fleshier than Katya's, and when Katya rubs it with the flat of her palm she groans.

Katya spends time kissing her clit, applying very little pressure but just moving her lips lightly across them.

She sucks Trixie's clit lightly, and every time she does Trixie breathes a sigh that ends on a moan. Katya moves to licking over and around her clit, keeping her tongue loose and soft.

When Trixie is consistently rocking her hips and her hand comes up to tangle in her own hair, Katya swipes her tongue down to her entrance. She smashes her nose against Trixie's clit. Katya stiffens her tongue, stabs it into Trixie's cunt, as deep as she can. Trixie gives a loud, formless shout that makes them both giggle.

Katya sits back. Out of habit, she puts her legs into a wide-angled forward bend pose. She misses the taste of Trixie but can smell her. She's pretty sure she's inhaled some of Trixie's wetness and it's smeared and drying on her chin.

Katya starts with one finger. Trixie props herself up on one elbow and makes eye contact with Katya. Katya knows that she's ready for more but she wants to spin this out. She has a good idea of where she's taking this and wants to enjoy it. She plays with Trixie's cunt with just two fingers. She enjoys the changing textures, from the smooth to the raised bits that feel a bit like Katya's tongue. Katya's cunt is throbbing in sympathy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've imagined Trixie working on August: Osage County currently, and she's moving on to something more contemporary and minimalist.
> 
> The albums I've mentioned are (in order): So Jealous by Tegan and Sara, Rumours by Fleetwood Mac, Little Plastic Castle by Ani DiFranco and Medulla by Bjork.


	10. Chapter 10

Trixie is laid out in front of Katya. She's trying to play it cool but she can't stop her hips chasing Katya's hand. She suspects that Katya is moving her hands from side to side, only her fingertips still inside Trixie, just to see her hips bumping along the bed sheets. 

She's been making little nasal whimpers for so long now that they've become one long drone. 

After a while Katya seems to tire of teasing. She gives Trixie a hungry look, a blazing rake over her body. Trixie's skin prickles under her gaze. 

Katya lays her hand flat on Trixie's chest, on the gap where her heavy breasts have fallen to the side. Katya says, "Keep still." 

She presses harder on Trixie's breastbone. Trixie's whines go up in pitch. 

Katya holds her three longest fingers together like a duck bill and starts to push harder against Trixie. She's not quite wet enough yet and Katya grabs the lube with her left hand, drizzling it carelessly over her right. 

It's burning but Trixie's excited. She wants it. She feels the tight band of her entrance stretching around Katya's fingers. She wonders if the pressure is hurting them. She flutters her muscles to encourage them in, wants to show she's not just lying there. 

"Now, now, now – come on," Trixie's chanting, squirming. "Just do it, get in me." Trixie's mouth is open, panting, tongue lolling in her mouth. She squeezes her eyes shut, can't stop herself from frowning with concentration. 

Trixie can't be sure but she thinks that Katya has tucked her little finger inside the duck bill too. She's pressing forward inexorably now and Trixie is keening. 

Katya braces her other arm at the side of Trixie's body and lowers herself down to lightly kiss the wrinkle between her brows. Trixie wants to bite her bicep, and her tanned, muscular thigh. Katya's sitting with her legs spread wide open in some pretentious yoga way and it shouldn't turn Trixie on but it does. Katya's face is a bit too close to focus on, but Trixie loves her sea glass eyes and the way that she keeps breaking out into a grin. 

"My, my, my. I'm not sure I've ever met a girl who has let me fist her on the first date before." 

She pushes further and Trixie feels the stretching feeling intensify. She knows Katya is going to start curling her hand up soon. It burns a little but she's desperate for Katya now. 

Trixie bares her clenched teeth. She starts forcing little huffs out of her nose. She tosses her head on the bed. 

"I don't want to think about you fisting, ah – other girls." 

Her next moan comes from the depths of her stomach, and trails off into a rumbling groan, and then a dry sob. It's embarrassing but then Katya finally curls her fingers up to make a fist, and Trixie's pleased the noise seemed to get the job done. 

Trixie feels her entrance stretch around the widest part of Katya's hand, and then Katya tucks her thumb in too. This is always the part where Trixie feels like she'll die if she doesn't get filled up soon. She is aching, wanting. She arches her back in a futile attempt to create more space inside her. There's one final push and then a sense of satisfaction washes over Trixie. She relaxes. Her entrance contracts around Katya's delicate wrist. She feels like her insides are swollen, pulsing, but it doesn't hurt at all now. Katya is pressing against every sensitive part she has. Katya doesn't thrust yet, but gently twists her fist from side to side. 

As Katya rocks her fist with minute little movements, Trixie swears she can feel the sensation all the way to her toes. Katya is barely moving, but Trixie's skin is prickled with gooseflesh. Time seems to stretch, and Trixie's limbs are weak and limp on the bed. She's groaning steadily. Trixie doesn't expect it but within a minute or so, she's coming without touching her clit at all. It seizes her suddenly, her stomach muscles clench so hard that she rips her shoulders away from the bed. She's jerking every few seconds, with her hand thrown across her face. Her cunt is rippling, wringing Katya's hand out like an old cloth. Shapeless noises are coming from her mouth. 

When she opens her eyes again, the first thing she sees is Katya looking at her like a kid entrusted to light a fire in the back yard. 

"Feeling better?" Trixie is mesmerised by Katya's crinkled eyes. Trixie tries to push herself into a sitting position, and grips the back of Katya's neck. She's blinking slowly and her mouth is uselessly gaping. She tries to make a sentence, she mouths the words but gets lost half way. Everything is hazy, and she flops back down onto the pillow. 

"I'm going to fuck you a little harder now, sugar." 

There's no resistance in Trixie anymore and Katya's fist slips in and out of her wet pussy easily. Katya stops clenching her fist so hard and her hand goes back to the wedge position. It's smooth and easy, but for a little bump as Katya's knuckles slide in. 

Katya's shoulders are strong and she keeps her thrusts short and sharp, with a twist as she pushes back inside. Katya's strong enough, and Trixie's boneless enough, that Katya's thrusts are shunting Trixie up the bed. It's making an obscene sucking sound. In an attempt to take some of the power back, Trixie props her foot up on the bed and uses the leverage to pound herself back on Katya just as forcefully. 

While she drives her hips down on to Katya's fist she brings her other hand to her clit and rubs roughly. It isn't quite the warm water immersion sensation of her first orgasm, but Katya gives her one more hard thrust which pushes her over the edge again with a shriek. 

"You done?" 

Trixie nods, and there's a tugging pain as Katya pulls her fist out. It's at this point that she normally worries that she's ruptured something and she's going to die, but Bianca has reassured her that it's almost impossible. She giggles at the thought of what Bianca and Kim would get engraved on her headstone if she ever did die of fisting. Katya's giggling too, for reasons Trixie can only guess at. 

Katya lies flat on her back next to Trixie, and takes her hand. Katya's whole hand is still covered in a fine film of wetness. Trixie moves her fingers around to check how far down Katya's wrist it goes. It's further down than Trixie would have guessed, and she feels smug at how deep she can take it. 

"I feel like I'm high," gasps Trixie. 

"Me too," Katya says, and then she grips the back of Trixie's head and pulls it down to her cunt. 

Katya's so wet and swollen that Trixie doesn't need to do much, just let Katya fuck her face. She's delicious. Trixie's eyeing up Katya's long, brown nipples and digging her fingers into Katya's thighs. Trixie likes the way that Katya cradles the back of Trixie's head with her two hands interlocked, tensing her abs as she moves her hips in short strokes against Trixie's face. Katya comes quickly with just one yell, squeezing her thighs around Trixie's face reflexively. 

Trixie gathers Katya up and hauls her on to her chest. Trixie usually likes being tucked under the arm of her lovers, she can pretend she's small and delicate that way. But she likes the feeling of Katya gasping into her neck, of their sweaty boobs pressed tightly together. She shuffles down to grab Katya's ass. It's sweaty too but it's firm and round under Trixie's hand. 

Trixie starts, "You know I like to be direct. And despite my work and your poor housekeeping skills, I think we're a good fit. And -" 

Katya laughs, "Next time you're getting me off first so I don't have to listen to this shit when I'm coming down." Trixie slaps her shoulder lightly and then closes her eyes instead. They can talk about it in the morning. 

Trixie waddles to the bathroom for a pee. Bianca had drummed into her that she must always do this, or risk cystitis. She gets back into bed and rubs her cold ass on Katya until she spoons Trixie. 

Trixie isn't stupid. She knows that Katya is hiding something. There are things she doesn't want to tell Trixie yet. But she knows in her bones that Katya is fundamentally good. She thinks it's unlikely that she has a secret spouse or owes money to the mob. It's enough for her for now, and she falls asleep with Katya's bony knees pressed into her thighs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is mainly what I came here to write! On holiday with my partner I gave her a whole bunch of fic recs for her to read on the beach and I said that was my only complaint is that no-one ever writes fisting. So she challenged me to do so. I'm a fisting evangelist so I gave it a go!
> 
> I've written Trixie is pretty experienced, and Katya as petite with smaller hands. So they go quite hard and quite fast. I would definitely recommend trying it, but maybe going a bit slower the first time. 
> 
> As I said in my other chapter notes, I'm up to date with what I've written so far so further updates will be slower but hopefully regular. I was very moved by Katya's 'What's The Tee?' podcast because some of her issues are my issues, and I'm quite interested in exploring what it's like to start a relationship with someone with a background of substance use. I'm not really a prose writer so things are going to be a bit rough and ready, but hopefully I'll get better and eventually let go of the idea that I "can't do" prose.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was travelling for seven hours yesterday so I did some writing while I was at it.

Trixie wakes up. For the first time, she doesn’t mind waking up in Boston. In the four months since her relationship ended and she made plans to leave Chicago, Trixie had thought every day about the different beds she could have woken up in, and wondered if she had made the right decision. 

There was New York. She’d almost signed on a six month lease in a shared house in Tribeca. She only had two connections in New York but she thought maybe it was worth taking her chances. She imagined herself in sundresses on sticky summer afternoons, strolling through Central Park and Greenwich Village. 

Then there was Milwaukee. Her old college had invited her to be a professor on their technical theatre and stage management course. It had a retirement fund and a healthcare package. Trixie did the sums and she could have bought herself a home in the suburbs with a very generous deposit. But she couldn’t face going back to Milwaukee without her college friends, and didn’t trust that her family wouldn’t take it as encouragement to contact her. 

California had been her other option. She’d always dreamt of the sun on her skin and long nights on the beach with a camp fire. She wasn’t going to chance LA. In college she had completed a module on electronics so she was able to use and fix their lighting equipment. Maybe she’d leave the theatre and start doing electrics for little old ladies. She’d buy a house somewhere quaint like Solvang or Ferndale, and get her own van. 

She couldn't really remember why she'd gone for Boston in the end. A Director she had worked with a lot had been offered a whole season of directing at the Boston Contemporary, and she'd invited Trixie to come along. She knew almost nothing nothing about Boston, only that it was smaller than Chicago and very old. If she's honest with herself, it's taken longer than she expected to settle in.

But this morning, for the first time, she isn’t dreaming of being somewhere else. She wakes up alone, but Katya’s left her bedroom door open and she can hear the slapping sound of what sounds like Katya doing a handstand on her hardwood floor. 

Trixie prises herself out of bed and, sure enough, Katya is upside down with her legs folded in some complicated way. 

She pulls on a vest top and some old sweatpants and can’t resist sneaking up to Katya and giving her a little pinch on the ass. Trixie feels excited about the day and it surprises her. 

Unexpectedly, Katya finches. 

“I’m sorry I startled you,” Trixie says. 

"Did you sleep well?" Katya flips herself the right way around to talk to Trixie, but her tone is formal. 

"Yes, thanks," Trixie tries to wrap her hand around Katya's waist but she's stiff and unyielding. Trixie's skin is still warm from her duvet, her eyes puffy and coated in sleep. Katya's skin is cool and she's got a full face of make-up on. 

"What shall we do today?" 

"Um," says Katya. 

"When I decided to move here, Bianca and I looked up some stuff to do. We could go and see those old swan boats, or do the Freedom Trail. We could go to Harvard and laugh at all the under graduates. Or we could catch a film, I bet you've done all the Boston stuff already." 

Katya looks frozen. Her arms are stiff to her sides as she stares off to a point beyond Trixie's head. 

"Yeah, we could. I mean, if you wanted to do something like that." 

"Well, I feel like I made it perfectly clear that I wanted to do something like that when I suggested doing it," Trixie sounds waspish to her own ears. 

Her lower stomach hurts, she feels bruised inside. She cradles it where it's sore. She squirms when she remembers how easily Katya was able to fit her fist inside her, how she begged and demanded it harder. 

Katya is still silent. 

"Do you mind if I go out for a cigarette?" Katya eventually asks. Her voice sounds inappropriately loud in Trixie's empty apartment. 

"I would have gone out for one," she continues, "But I didn't want to leave you in here with the door unlocked. I didn't know where your keys were." 

"I thought I was speaking to you," says Trixie. 

"You are, but I need a cigarette now. I've been awake for three hours." 

"Why didn't you wake me?" Trixie accuses. 

Katya's eyes widen and she grabs the back of her neck, "I didn't think that's what you wanted. I didn't think it was, what – you know, people do." 

Trixie draws herself up to her full height. She has an imperious look that she knows drives people crazy. It's a half-lidded sort of look, with a furled upper lip. 

"Can we pause this discussion so I can go out for a cigarette?" 

"Why don't you quit? This could be the first day of the rest of your life?" Trixie uses her Valley girl voice, and even she wants to smack herself. 

"Because I don't want to quit," Katya swallows. 

"Why not? You know they're poison. It’s a bit pathetic, begging to go outside like a dog." 

Trixie watches all of the muscles in Katya's neck and shoulders stiffen. But Katya doesn't say anything, just gives Trixie the impassive look of a cow in a field, staring at the sky. 

Frustrated tears prickle the corner of Trixie's eyes. She can't believe this has got so nasty. It's absurd to be borderline shouting at someone that she trusted to push their fist inside her just a few hours ago. She goes back to cradling her stomach, where she can still feel the ghost of Katya's hand. 

Trixie points over at her purse, "You can take my keys from that." Katya walks briskly over to her purse and roots through it. Trixie has all sorts in there; loose make up brushes, coins, old parking tickets. She wants Katya to feel the embarrassment of digging through it all. 

"I'll be back in a minute," Katya grabs her pack of cheap and nasty Pyramid smokes from her bag and walks out. Trixie goes to the window and watches Katya emerge from the apartment block. She thinks about throwing her ugly duffle bag out the window after her. She wants to hear her stupid CDs crack in their dirty cases. She wants to see Katya's clog boots splinter on the ground. 

She watches Katya smoke. She's barefoot, bending over to touch her toes with her cigarette in her teeth. The wind is blowing the hair off her face, and the low September sun illuminates her cheekbones. 

Trixie still has tracks of lube on her thighs. It's cheap lube she bought on tour because she didn't want to order any to the hotel. The brand dries up quickly, and she can roll the residue into little balls like glue. 

She sits on the couch. 

She tries to pull her t-shirt over her knees. She hates that she has the type of body that she can't easily hide in. She puts her arms around herself and either a bit of tit or a bit of her gut bulges out. She twists her hands around her hair instead, binding it in a tight bun. 

She wants to shout at Katya that it's her one day off before she starts her new contract. She needs to do her laundry, re-read the script, maybe take the lights back to the hire place. Tomorrow she'll be meeting a whole room full of new people, learning names and showing that she knows what she's talking about. 

She wants to shout at Katya that since her ex dumped her, since she moved to Boston and left her friends behind, she's been waking up with a weight on her chest. Food turns to dust in her mouth. She needs more sleep than she's needed since her early teens. Sometimes she can tune out the voices of her friends for whole conversations because she feels like she's stuck behind a murky glass panel. 

She wants to shout at Katya that for the first time since she came to Boston, she was excited to go and out and greet the day. She wanted to do it with Katya by her side. 

Katya unlocks the door again but she doesn’t come in. She smells of Fall air and smoke. 

Trixie takes a deep breath, "I'm sorry. I think I expected you to know things you couldn't have known." 

"No, I'm sorry," says Katya, "I like to keep a routine and I find it difficult to change my plans at short notice." 

"What are your plans?" Trixie tries to soften her tone. 

Katya hesitates for a moment, chews her fingernails. "I'm teaching at 2pm and 7pm. In between, I had planned to spend some time in the office or catch up with some chores at home." 

"Yes, I can see you're a real stickler for housework," Trixie smirks. 

Katya bursts into unexpected laughter, "Shut it, you bitch." Trixie sniggers. Trixie loves her red lips and her perfect skin. She even loves her wheezy smoker's laugh. 

"Look, I'm tired after the tour and I've got things I should do before my first meet and greet with the crew tomorrow. Maybe we could rain check today." 

Katya is silent for a moment and then says, "Your place is lots closer to the centre. Maybe I could help you here between classes. Then after my second class, I'll go back to mine." 

Trixie likes that idea. She likes it even more when Katya goes to get croissants and coffee while she gets in the shower. She tries to make Katya take her purse but Katya insists on getting it. 

Katya gets back when she's still showering. Trixie calls for her to come in to the bathroom. Katya's pupils widen gratifyingly when she sees Trixie under the water. 

She lets Katya finish rinsing her off with the showerhead, and she giggles when Katya bends and presses a kiss on her fat pussy lips and bristly hairs. Katya holds out her towel for her, rubbing down her sides, helping Trixie wrap up her long hair in a turban. All of Trixie's towels are new. She couldn't be bothered to launder her old ones and pack them in her car, so she just bought new and had them delivered to Boston. 

"What can I do to help?" Katya's standing in the living room as Trixie loads up her laptop. She points at the pile of picture frames. 

"I could put these up for you?" 

"Can you put up a picture?" 

"I've got an art degree. I've hung up a couple of paintings." 

"That's what artists always say. I lived with Kim, she can't get Saran wrap off the roll. I'm not losing my security deposit to indulge you feeling your butch oats this morning." 

Katya rolls her eyes, "You enjoyed that rooftop platform at the centre?" 

Trixie nods. 

"I built that. You like that box office desk made from some old window frames?" 

Trixie nods. 

"I built that too. So zip it, cheeky bitch." 

It takes Trixie ten minutes to wipe the smile from her face. Trixie reads her script with her laptop next to her, making notes and typing out her questions for the director. She is distracted by Katya's taut ass and slim hips in the jeans she had rolled up in her overnight bag. Her long sleeved top keeps riding up and showing her back, and Trixie is quietly enjoying the view. 

She's even more distracted by the mess that Katya is making of her walls. Or rather, the lack of mess. Katya is careful and methodical. She spends a while measuring the walls before she starts. She experiments with putting the pictures in different positions and combinations before she puts small pencil crosses to guide her drilling. Her hand on the drill is firm and steady. Trixie is quietly admiring that too. 

Trixie likes having Katya there while she reads the script. It's a good script, poetic and atmospheric. Katya hums when Trixie reads her out some good bits. 

She calls her over, "Hey, Picasso. In your opinion; what is the difference between the colours of sunrise and sunset?" 

"What time of year is it?" replies Katya, talking around the nail in her teeth. "Where are we?" 

"Scotland, Spring." 

Katya takes a break and Trixie gets her gels out for her, little slips of plastic tinted in various colours. They experiment, finding the perfect sunrise effect. She knows what she usually uses when she's lighting a sunrise, but she wants to get to know how Katya thinks. 

When they're done, Katya fists her on the sofa again. Trixie didn't anticipate it, but before she knows it she's being moved over Katya's lap, her knees outside Katya's. 

Katya stuffs one hand up Trixie's worn t-shirt to grope at her breasts, she uses the other one to push down her sweatpants so they are stuck around Trixie's thighs. Katya has Trixie riding three of her fingers in minutes. Trixie's braced her arms either side of Katya's head and is kissing desperately at her neck, back bent over Katya's shorter torso. 

Katya starts wedging her fingers together again, tucking her little finger in first. 

"I'm still sore, baby," she pants into Katya's ear. 

"Sore from me fucking you?" 

"Yeah, Trixie whines. Her voice is already becoming high, reedy and nasal. She can't help talking like this when someone is fucking her good. 

"But you liked it?" 

"Yeah," and this time it's even weaker and more pathetic. 

"I liked it too," Katya whispers like she's sharing a secret, "And I want to fuck you again," 

Trixie whimpers and buries her face in Katya's neck. 

Katya's balled up her fist and is rotating it at Trixie's entrance. She's wet and she circles her hips, enjoying the brush of Katya's knuckles on her clit. It feels impossible that it could ever fit inside her. 

"Let me try," Katya says. She pushes her fingers back into a wedge. Katya pulls up Trixie's t-shirt with her teeth and starts biting at her nipples. Trixie pushes her boobs together and into Katya's face. They look obscenely large against Katya's pretty features. 

Trixie's hips jerk and she involuntarily pushes down onto Katya's hand, hissing with pain. 

Gravity is helping her sink down but it's not quite enough to force Katya fully inside her. 

She wriggles down further. Katya's groaning, panting more than Trixie is. 

"You're doing all the work now, aren't you? You're so eager," 

Katya's teeth are gleaming.

Trixie gives one more thrust downwards and somehow Katya's fully inside her. She's so tight she knows Katya's going nowhere fast. Her thighs are trembling. 

"You're actually – ah- hurting my hand." 

Trixie laughs into Katya's hair at that. When she gets a grip on herself she bounces a little bit, swirls her hips on Katya's lap. She wants to do a back bend like Katya taught her in yoga, grab the opposite end of the coffee table, then lie back and let Katya hollow her out properly. But she also wants to keep what's left of her dignity. 

Dignity? She hears Bianca's voice in her head. Dignity has nothing to do with getting fisted for the second time in 24 hours while wearing dirty sweatpants. 

Without warning, Katya uses her free hand to push down hard on Trixie's thigh, spreading her legs further and driving Katya deeper inside her. 

Trixie screams once, and then again when Katya bites her nipple hard. Her toes are curling and she's coming. She has a few blissful seconds of her hips twitching and pumping down onto Katya's fist without any involvement from her higher thought processes. 

Katya tells her to clench so she can pull out. It's counter-intuitive, but it seems to work. The moment Katya pulls out she's filling Trixie's mouth with her fingers. They taste of metal but Trixie's sucking them down. 

Katya's unbuttoning her jeans, pushing Trixie's hands into them. They fall sideways and Trixie is artlessly swiping her fingers over Katya's clit. Katya is so wet; Trixie's fingers keep slipping. Katya hisses through her teeth every time they slip. Trixie knows she's so sensitive it's almost painful. 

Katya keeps whispering, "Yes don't stop. Fuck you. Don't stop. Yes, you little - Just fucking make me come." Eventually she just trails off, panting into Trixie's sweaty cleavage until she comes with a shriek. 

Katya seems mortified when she pulls back and realises that she really should have left for yoga 10 minutes ago. Trixie lounges on the couch and cackles as Katya hastily washes her hands in the kitchen sink and runs out the door. 

Trixie lies there for a long time. She pulls her fingers down to herself and rubs them across the bits that feel raw and stretched. She's wet and it's the middle of the afternoon and she's just been fucked so good by a woman she really likes. She's giddy, giddy, giddy. 

Trixie's finishes reading the first two acts of the play. She does one load of laundry and has picked out an outfit for the meet and greet tomorrow. She knows Katya wants to go straight home after the second yoga class, and so Trixie will have more time to be productive then. Trixie will probably glad to have a break from company when Katya leaves a second time. 

But for now, Trixie just wants to sit on her wet, swollen pussy and think about all the ways she can take advantage of the fact that Katya will be returning all sweaty and with warm, stretched muscles.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Bisexual Visibility Day!

Katya streaks out of Trixie's apartment and to the centre. She's going to fall. She's going to trip and fall and one of her bones will break and burst out of the skin and no one will help and she'll get trampled. Or they will help but she'll need to take time off to recover and they'll find someone else to teach her classes. And she'll end up in debt from the treatment and she'll lose her apartment. Or they'll put her on OxyContin and then she'll end up switching to heroin because it's cheaper in most parts these days. She's never been one for downers but she doesn't trust herself not to enjoy them now the only stimulants her body has are coffee and cigarettes. 

She tries to convince herself this won't happen and she feels herself calm a bit but she's still terrified that she's going to be late. Someone will complain to Ginger and she'll be called in to explain herself and before she can even open her mouth, they'll just ask her to leave. 

Katya practically dives through the sliding doors. Somehow, she's still got eight minutes before her class starts. She usually likes to give herself at least 10, but eight will do. 

She races over to Violet, who is twisting all the cakes inside the cooler cabinet so all the intricate icing faces the same way. She seizes both of Violet's hands between her own. 

"Violet, Violet, Violet, Violet, Violet," Katya pants. 

Her knees weaken and she sinks down on to the kick stool Ginger uses to get stuff down from the top shelves. 

Violet turns so Katya can lean her head on Violet's stomach. Katya's eyes are wild and she pulls her mouth into a square rictus. She knows people find this expression humorous but she trusts Violet enough to see her real distress underneath. Despite the fact that Violet is just 25, barely old enough to be allowed to drink, Violet is usually the person Katya goes to when she's feeling like this. 

Katya spills out the full story to Violet, who listens and strokes Katya's hair. She tells Violet how she met Trixie at work and she looked so competent and so _normal_. Katya confesses that she was stupid enough to bring CDs for the car, and does everyone just use their phones to play music these days? 

She tells Violet that Trixie collects Barbie dolls and that she let Katya fuck her harder than she's fucked almost anyone in her life. She tells Violet how in the morning she woke up with an itch in her skin, and she almost fucked everything up. And maybe she has fucked everything up and she just doesn't know it yet; Trixie seemed so upset and Katya didn't fully know why. 

"Listen, Katya, come back and talk to me in a bit, I'll close the cafe. But for now, just go in there like 'I'm feeling the session! I'm so excited to be here with you wrinkly old hippies! You're going to learn so much fucking yoga!' Okay?" 

Katya nods weakly. 

"This is your advanced group, so just go to the front and do something complicated and aspirational. Throw in some Russian and some of your funny dancing. You'll get away with it, everybody loves you!" 

Katya sighs. 

Adrenaline is still running through her body. Her hands are sweaty, her head light. 

The session is decent. Violet was right, the lunchtime advanced crew just want to be left to it and she can distract from her agitated state with humour. She's usually well prepared, she doesn't like the sensation of just getting away with it. 

True to her word, when Katya gets downstairs there's a sign on Violet's counter saying, 'Team Meeting' and the coffee machine is still. 

"So, what's the problem here? She let you put your fist up her twice - which, by the way, ew. And then she, what, invited you to do shitty tourist things? She seems a bit slutty and a bit clingy, but surely that's just the lesbian dream?" 

Katya buries her face in her hands. 

"I don't know. It was just too much. The sex was intense. I didn't like waking up in her place and not knowing if I was allowed to make a coffee or go out for a smoke." 

Violet hmms, "Why didn't you just wake her up?" 

Katya just stares at her, boggling out her eyes and stretching out her palms to Violet. 

"What did you do?" Violet asks. 

"Just stood there really. I couldn't speak, all my energy was just going into not having a full-blown panic attack." 

"Why?" Violet looks at Katya as if what she is saying is literally incomprehensible. 

"I just kept thinking; what if she wants to go across town and I can't get back in time? What if what she wants to do something that costs too much? What if I see someone I used to use with?" 

"Didn't you go on a date before? You went to the gallery?" 

"Yeah, I hadn't fucked her then, and by the time she woke up I was so anxious I was ready to run."

Violet keeps stroking Katya's hand. "Kat, I hate seeing you like this."

Katya snorts, "You see it often enough." She continues, "I could tell she was hurt and angry, but I just didn't know what to do. I couldn't get out. She wouldn't let me out for a smoke." 

"She trapped you?" Violet's eyebrow arches dangerously. "Fuck, Katya. I'm so sorry. I wouldn't have encouraged this if I knew she was a douche."

Katya forgets sometimes that Violet is so young that for her, the world is still split cleanly into babes and douchebags. 

Katya tries to defuse things, "No, she's not a douche. She didn't stop me from leaving. Physically. But I felt trapped, paralysed. I wanted to go but it was like being outside my body, looking in. You know me, I'm a master of hiding how I'm feeling. She probably thought that if I stayed I'd just tell her what was up."

Violet looks sceptical, "What do you want to do now? Cut her off?" 

Katya and Violet are both champions of cutting people off. Admittedly, with Violet it's usually just because of her impossibly high standards. 

"No, I don't think so. She's invited me back between my classes. To help her unpack or for sex, I'm not sure."

"Well then, just go back to hers and do more of the same. No worries mate!" 

Katya loathes that phrase and she isn't even sure why. She gives Violet a quick kiss on the cheek and heads back to Trixie's. Violet waves and shouts, "I'll see you at seven when even more of your forearm smells of Trixie Mattel's cunt!" 

Katya wheels around to see if there is anyone there to overhear. When she sees that there isn't, she gives her forearm a long, exaggerated sniff to make Violet laugh.

On the walk back, Katya wishes she had Violet's easy confidence in her own decisions. She could fill her notebook with reasons that seeing Trixie again today could go wrong. She's fighting off the urge to catalogue the ways she'll probably let Trixie down, disappoint her. She's not sure if she's capable of love, and she knows she's not worthy of receiving it. But she wants to spend time with Trixie, wants to wake up tangled in her thick hair. 

Trixie buzzes her in, and Katya feels the warmth of Trixie's apartment as soon as she opens the door. Trixie is barefoot on her wooden floor, wearing a pastel blue negligee. She must have put the heating on in her apartment. Katya never usually lets herself do that until right at the end of September. 

"Productive couple of hours?" Katya asks. 

Trixie giggles, "No." She fixes Katya with a smouldering look, "Not particularly" 

She pulls Katya by the hand into the bedroom. It's only mid-afternoon but Trixie has blackout curtains and the room is warm and dark. Trixie has put on some sort of soothing folk music on. Katya usually finds that sort of music doesn't give her enough mental stimulation and leaves her feeling agitated, but she'll give it a chance. Next to the bed, a little candle flickers in an oil burner. The whole room smells of rose and honey. 

Katya kisses Trixie, roughly grabbing her ass and pulling at her little silky gown, but Trixie bats away her hands. 

She undoes the fly of Katya's jeans and pushes the denim down Katya's thighs, "You can't wear denim in my bed. The texture goes through me." Trixie pauses, "Actually, I was going to give you a massage so it's easier if you just take everything off and lie down." 

Katya is often jumpy when touched before she she really warms up, but she remembers how good Trixie's skin felt against hers last night. So, she strips off and awkwardly clambers on to the bed. 

Katya lets her head sink into the pillow. As usual, her mind is reaching ahead, following a convoluted web of thoughts and sub-thoughts. At the word web, she starts thinking about the way veins and arteries look when they are spread out outside the body. She thinks about how they make those models. They pour plastic into the veins and then corrode the tissue away, leaving only the plastic. She thinks about how they look like coral. Katya remembers Frida Kahlo's self-portraits, the spots of blood on her neck. 

She tries to slow her breathing and focuses her consciousness first on her fingers, then her toes, then her belly button, then her ears. It helps, and soon her breathing is slow and her thoughts are slower too. It’s one of the reasons why yoga works for her. 

Trixie’s hand is large and reassuring on her back. She’s got some type of scented oil warmed in her hand and is smearing it over Katya’s back. She runs her fingers down the nobbly bits of Katya’s spine, and digs her fingers into her obliques. Trixie grunts slightly as she uses her shoulders to work her palms into Katya’s shoulder blades. She grinds the heel of her palm into them, twisting it into the hard knots so Katya cries out. 

Trixie hums to herself as she strokes both palms up Katya's waist. She bends Katya's arms back as far as they will go and strokes her hands down the muscles in her upper arm, her forearm. "Fuck," Trixie breathes out, "you're so strong and flexible." 

Trixie bites the mound of Katya's palms and sucks her fingers into her mouth one by one. She releases each of them with a pop. 

Katya dimly recalls that she meant to wrangle control back from Trixie. She decides to let it go, Trixie seems to be doing just fine with minimal input from Katya. Katya finds she doesn't even mind the floaty acoustic guitar, particularly when Trixie is grinding her fists into Katya's firm buttocks. 

Trixie drops a kiss to the small of Katya's back, and starts peppering kisses all over Katya's ass. Again, Trixie hums to herself as she presses her face more firmly between Katya's cheeks. Katya's body feels like it's stuck in honey, and even when Trixie licks over her asshole, all she can muster is a little huff and a flutter of her eyelashes. Trixie is clearly entertaining herself, licking a little star shape from the centre of Katya's hole. She makes little smug noises into Katya's ass, and Katya feels her wriggle into the bedsheets. Trixie is pressing her tongue more insistently into Katya now, waiting for her to open up. 

After a while she draws her head back, and starts rubbing her hands down Katya's thighs. She twists her hands as she does so, moving Katya's hamstrings and her quads. She kisses the ridges where her muscles show under the skin. Trixie uses her thumbs to knead all down the backs of her calves and jabs her thumbs into Katya's ankles. 

Katya loses sense of time, she gurgles into the pillows. Trixie steps back and Katya feels the lack of warmth immediately. She still can't move. She hears Trixie's nightgown hit the floor. Then Trixie kneels either side of her and lowers herself down onto Katya's back. Katya feels Trixie's nipples hit her back before Trixie's breasts splurge over the sides of Katya's narrow back. Katya likes the firm weight of Trixie on top of her. Trixie's hips roll into her ass a few times, and she makes little whimpery sounds into Katya's ear. 

Trixie sits up again. She urges Katya to lie on her front. Katya feels like a child being woken up to go to the airport, her limbs are soft and pliant in Trixie's grip. 

Trixie strokes her fingers over Katya's clavicles before moving down to Katya's chest. Trixie ignores her the soft swell of Katya's breasts, but presses down firmly underneath them to reach Katya's pectorals, moving her fingertips in tight circles. Her eyes are focused on Katya's body, nostrils flaring as she gazes down at her. Before she moves down she grazes Katya's nipples with her teeth. 

Trixie rubs her knuckles over Katya's abs, before rubbing the side of her cheek against the firm muscle there. She presses the heels of her hands on the outside of Katya's thigh and kisses both of her knees.

Katya raises herself on her elbows just in time to see Trixie part her legs. Katya didn't fully register that she was this aroused, but as Trixie pulls her thighs apart she sees a silvery web of her wetness spread between her thighs before it breaks and snaps back. 

Trixie is staring, breathing with her mouth open. 

"Oh, Katya," Trixie breathes, "You're a mess." 

Trixie uses both hands to spread Katya's labia open. Her clit is red and swollen, pushing out from her hood. 

Trixie leans forward and cups her tongue. She draws it up the length of Katya's pussy, collecting her wetness in the curve. She leans back enough for Katya to see her swallow. 

"I'm just clearing some space," Trixie hisses before driving her face back in between Katya's thighs. She laughs a little into Katya's cunt, moving her face back and forth, wetting it. She's showing off, Katya loves it. 

Trixie slips two fingers into Katya. She's sopping, and there's no friction at all. Trixie twists them in and out while lapping at Katya's clit, and Katya can't help making little breathy noises that are unlike anything she usually makes. 

Trixie pulls back, "Katya, can I use a strap-on? My wrist is tired." 

Trixie's voice sounds like it's coming from very far away. She focusses, and when she realises what Trixie has said she can't help laughing. 

"Your wrists are tired? Spare a thought for mine yesterday!" 

Trixie huffs, but thankfully doesn't stop the gentle thrusting inside Katya. 

"Yes, of course," Katya says, "There's one in my - " 

"No, I've got my own. If you put me in a gross, manly one, I'll cry." 

"Great, can we use my toy though? Go in my bag. It's the purple one that I want." Katya feels like she couldn't possibly move anything below her neck. 

Trixie comes back muttering about Katya bringing three dildos over to her house for one night. She's holding Katya's narrow, smooth dildo in one hand and a pink harness in the other. It has fucking bows on the hips. Trixie fastens Katya's toy into the ring, all the while telling Katya an anecdote about being made to dress as Andy from Toy Story for Halloween, and how she threw such a tantrum she wasn't even allowed out to trick or treat. Katya isn't fully listening, but synchronising her breaths with the pulsing in her cunt. 

At last, Trixie is on top of her, kissing her. Her heavy breasts are on Katya's chest. Trixie manoeuvres herself and suddenly Katya is full of the cool, firm silicone. Katya gasps, but only lightly flexes her fingers because she's too lethargic to do anything more. 

Katya remembers a field trip to the coast where they watched a grizzled East Coast fisherman catch and trance some lobsters. He stood them on their heads, wound their tails over their body and they were soft and silent even as they entered the steaming pot. That's how she feels, perfectly meek under Trixie's long, steady thrusts. This never happens, she thinks to herself. She likes to be in charge, in control. And yet, she never wants it to stop. 

With her hands free, Trixie dots a constellation of touches over Katya's body. Katya isn't sure if she's touching the bits she missed with her massage, or whether she is just plucking at the bits that take her fancy first. 

Trixie keeps going, and going. Katya lies underneath her and doesn't really notice the copper pot of boiling water she's heading for. Soon, she's kicking frog-leg, breast stroke style on the sheets, the material bunching around her toes. 

She gets tenser, draws her legs around Trixie's body. When her orgasm finally hits she is silent, her body bowing upwards. The only sounds she makes are the thumps of her heels against the back of Trixie's legs. She clenches against the unyielding silicone in her body and her spine twists with it. 

Trixie laughs at her, then shuffles Katya over so she is lying in the warm, damp patch Katya just made. She lifts her hips and shimmies out of her harness, kicking it out of the bed. 

Katya leans on her elbow and trails her hand down Trixie's stomach. Trixie catches it, grabs it, pulls it down to her pussy, and then presses her hand firmly over Katya's to cup her hand tightly against Trixie. Katya tries to pull her hand back so she can play with Trixie. Trixie presses her hand down more firmly and growls, "No you fucking don't, no teasing." 

Katya gets her off with swift efficiency. She leans over Trixie and sucks her right nipple in her mouth. Trixie brings her other hand to the back of Katya's head and holds her there. 

"Oh, Katya. Please, please touch me." 

Trixie's body is vibrating under Katya's hand. She can't keep her hips still, like she's still imagining fucking Katya. Her breath starts to hitch and she babbles, "Fuck, Katya, please don't stop. Keep going, yes, that's perfect." She trails off as her hips pump erratically. 

Afterwards, Trixie curls herself under Katya's armpit and demands Katya play with her hair. "I haven't been taken apart like that in…" Katya fumbles for something that sounds long ago but not too long ago but, in reality, she can't remember a time when someone has systematically overwhelmed every part of her body like that. 

Trixie gives Katya a satisfied smile and lets her eyes drift shut. 

"You're so lovely, Katya. I feel fortunate to touch you like this," Trixie is often bristly, brusque, or else she's reaching for the joke. But in the artificial dark of the bedroom she sounds soft and sincere. 

Katya is used to feeling like an imposter. Sometimes Violet is able to make Katya feel like a real human, adult being, and it's a strange and wonderful feeling. It seems like Trixie might have mastered the same trick. Katya doesn't know how she has done it. 

Most of the water from the top of the oil burner has evaporated now, and only a few drops fizz and spit in the bowl. Someone should top it up, or else blow the candle out. 

Katya's chest feels tight but she forces herself to concentrate on winding Trixie's soft hair around her fingers. They are silent, and Katya is sure Trixie is drifting in and out of sleep. 

It feels like it's just been a second when a harsh buzzing noise rends the air in the room. Trixie scrabbles for her phone. 

"Fucking hell, what's that?" 

"It's my _'Stop Fucking'_ alarm! I felt bad this morning, when I saw you running off in a flap. I estimated you'd need 15 minutes to get yourself together and 25 minutes to walk to the centre. It takes me 20 but I gave you extra time because I've got youth on my side, and a few extra inches of height!" 

Katya rolls her eyes at Trixie. 

"Thank you, that's very thoughtful. Especially your concessions to my limitations. Sure you don't want to come with me?" 

Trixie shuffles up the pillows and looks like she's contemplating it. 

"Thanks, but no. I'm going to finish reading this script in bed and get an early night." 

Katya drops a kiss on her head as she gets up to sort out her bag. 

"You should get a glass of water, massages are surprisingly dehydrating." 

Katya grabs one of the few glasses that Trixie has unpacked. 

"You want anything?" Katya shouts across the apartment. 

"I'll have a glass of water with three bits of ice and some lemon," Trixie trills back. Katya can tell she's elated with herself. 

Katya sits on the edge of Trixie's bed and drinks her water. She fills in her notebook from the earlier session, looks back at her old notes for this class, and then talks Trixie through what she wants to achieve today. Before she leaves, she tops up Trixie's water and hands her the script, a few different coloured pens and some sticky notes.

As Katya sails through the doors, she thumbs open her phone and texts Trixie, "18 minutes, bitch." 

She dances over to Violet, who promptly picks up Katya's arm and sniffs it. 

"God. You smell of... flowers. And your lizard skin is so soft for once!" 

"Well, I certainly don't need to do any stretching this evening, Miss Violet!" 

Violet sighs, "By all means do tell me about all the kinky, freaky sex you've been having." 

"Well, it wasn't kinky as in ball gags and spreader bars, but it was kinky as in rimming and me coming _ever_ so hard all over her strap-on." 

Violet throws her cleaning cloth into the sink, "I can't believe you've been doing that all afternoon and the most exciting thing I've done has been writing up the fucking Fall seasonal specials board." 

Katya cackles and throws herself into a cartwheel on her way to the stairs.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning:
> 
> In this chapter there is some relatively mild power play, and sex while under the influence of alcohol.
> 
> I hope I've made it clear but just to be sure: this is consensual, planned activity between two adults. 
> 
> This one makes me nervous and I just want it done! 
> 
> Weirdly enough, I'd written most of this before the last Unhhhh! I now like to think I have psychic powers!

The first meeting is always fairly casual, just a plate of cheap Danish pastry and a read through of the script. She knows Irma the Director well, and they have a brief discussion about her kids and what lipstick they are currently enjoying. Irma is pleased to hear that Trixie is dating again, and Trixie promises to find her a picture of Katya. 

Trixie is glad for her musical theatre training in these meetings. They all inevitably involve a few warm up games and most of the technical team tend to stay in the corners, trying to pretend that nothing is happening. Trixie is not averse to a bit of bean bag throwing, and she was a ninja at Zip, Zap, Zop in college. It's a small cast of all women, and everyone seems pretty switched on. Trixie's glad she wore flats, and throws herself into bouncing from side to side, throwing bolts of energy around the circle. 

Trixie walks out of the meet and greet with a mind full of ideas and a cleavage full of croissant crumbs. The Stage Manager is concerned that some of Trixie's designs may end up too expensive, but Trixie has a lot of faith in her young lighting technician. Trixie wants to scribble down her ideas and use Cast Soft to mock up some of her lighting designs. She's got to find a way to accommodate Irma's ideas of marrying neon lights and water. Trixie has some ideas and heads to the Boston Womens' Art Centre, setting up her laptop at a table where she knows Katya will see her when she comes down from the studio. Trixie has taken a picture of Katya's yoga class schedule from where it's pinned up on the cork board. She hopes she'll be able to have an hour to work on her laptop, a coffee with Katya, and then she can do a bit more work before heading home. 

It looks like Violet has updated the seasonal specials board. The board is just a large roll of brown parcel paper held in place in all four corners with bulldog clips on wire. On the recycled paper, Violet has written out the specials in her extravagant hand. Katya had told her that a lot of the vegetables and almost all of the herbs are grown in the centre's garden, tended to by Ginger's community group. Trixie has often seen Katya pinch a bit of sorrel from the garden and chomp it as she strides up the stairs. 

Trixie orders a fennel and ginger mocktail from Violet at the bar, and settles in to work. 

Violet makes her drink and brings it over. She sets down the napkin first. She twists the glass with a little flourish, so the curl of ginger peel on the rim faces Trixie. Trixie thanks her without fully looking up, and loads up her lighting simulation software. 

She plays with a few options, consults her notebook for measurements of the set, googles a few things to check prices. Trixie looks up, and sees Violet rubbing a charcoal grey dish towel around a glass, staring straight through Trixie. 

She's tall, almost as tall as Trixie, but willowy. She has arched eyebrows and a perfect Cupid's bow to her lips. Her eyes are dark and gleaming like slate in the rain. Violet wears a sharply tailored plaid dress with shoulder pads and a patent leather belt. It's Cher Horowitz meets Depeche Mode and Trixie loves it. Her hair is pulled back, black curls teased into a little quiff at the front and a long pony at the back. 

Violet struts over to Trixie. She maintains eye contact, walking with her legs crossing over at the ankles. She navigates the cafe without looking, easily swaying her hips between the benches. 

She stops at Trixie's table, doesn't speak. She shakes the salt and pepper. Only one rattles. She stalks back over to the counter, refills the pepper with fresh peppercorns. 

Trixie tries to get back to work. She's not sure why Violet is being frosty, but she won't fight. She makes a point of working with 'difficult' female directors. Often, they're the ones with the new ideas, the courage to commission new work, the ones who will blow the whistle on someone sleazing on the interns. Trixie's definitely a girls' girl, and she'd be lying if she hadn’t had daydreams of leaving work to find Kim, Bianca and Katya all waiting for her. She supposes that if she wants her friends to embrace Katya, she should make a bit of an effort with Violet. 

Violet approaches again, peppermill in hand. She drops the peppermill on the table in front of Trixie, then reorganises the food and drink menus into height order. 

"Hi, Violet. It is Violet, isn't it?" 

"Yes.” Violet's face is haughty and standoffish. That's fine, Trixie can handle strong personalities. 

"This is really good," she offers. 

"Thanks." 

"It's a really interesting arts centre. We don't really have anything like this in Chicago. Chicago's so big, you know? This has a real community feel, but it seems professional too." 

"Maybe you could have said that the other ten times I've made you a drink, rather than just skipping through Insta at the counter," Trixie can tell Violet is relishing being rude to her. 

Trixie tries hard not to let her annoyance show, but she also knows she's an easy read. First there's the tension in her jaw. Then, the eye rolling. The look of faint disbelief. If pushed, there's the red rimmed eyes as she tries not to cry from frustration. 

"Katya said you were the programming manager too. You must do a great job, I always see interesting stuff advertised here. It would be good to work with you sometime. What sort of equipment do you have?" 

Violet just stares before she says, "We tend to just commission work by local women writers, and use technicians we already know. Katya told me you tend to do commercial stuff." 

Violet smirks, but Trixie isn't having it any more. She's hurt as well as angry. She had been so pleased to find the centre so close to her apartment, saving her from lonely nights in with box wine and Netflix. After a bumpy start, she's started to get to know some women at yoga. And there's Katya. Trixie had naively hoped that she was building a bit of community at the centre. 

She touches her nail to her teeth and says, "It must be challenging to have to fulfil multiple roles at once. I guess the blessing with commercially viable theatre is that it actually makes money, so you can hire both a barista and a programming manager. So, you could focus on coffee, or whatever." 

Trixie wants to go far enough with this that she pisses Violet off, but not so far that she can't feign ignorance to Katya if it comes back to bite her. 

"Has Katya told you about what I'm working on at the moment? It’s a new piece of writing by a Scottish woman playwright." 

Trixie pauses and can see Violet is listening despite herself. 

"It's about depression, and friendship, and whether women's sexualities are still as tightly controlled as they were." 

Violet is still fiddling with the menus, and fluffing up the sprigs of white gypsophila in their tiny milk bottles. 

"Katya told me about the quilting exhibition you're putting on soon. It sounds incredible," Trixie smiles broadly and doesn't bother to hide her insincerity. "We'll be sure to pop by on a day we've both got off." 

Trixie thinks she might have pushed it past the point of plausible deniability now. 

Violet sits down abruptly. "Listen, you can stop with smug 'we' shit. There's no 'we', not yet. And unless you open your eyes and see what's in front of yo- " 

"Violet! Hi! Oh- Trixie! I didn't know you'd be here." Katya is waving animatedly from the stairs, leaning over the banisters. She immediately heads to their table and shuffles on to the bench next to Trixie. Katya leans in, mouth puckered for a quick kiss. When Trixie gives her a peck she bounces back, looking pleased with herself. 

Katya doesn't comment on the awkward silence between Trixie and Violet. She takes a long pull from Trixie's straw, "Wow, Violet, this is really good. You were so right to leave the blackberries out of it." 

Violet rolls her eyes and drags her hand down her long ponytail. 

"So, Violet...Trixie tap dances!" 

"Cool," Violet deadpans. 

"Violet is an aerial, burlesque performer. She's incredible." 

Trixie nods curtly. She has a vision of Violet twirling on a rope above her, hair tumbling and dark eyes flashing under the lights. 

Katya picks up both the salt and pepper grinders in her hands and undulates her torso. 

"We should all go out dancing sometime," Katya keeps rolling her chest, shaking her shoulders. 

Violet puts them out of their misery when she excuses herself to go answer some emails on her iPad, propped up against the food counter. 

"What was that all about?" Katya asks. The playful eccentric falls away, and there's a firmness in her eyes that Trixie rarely sees. Trixie is never quite sure if Katya's eyes are blue or green, and today they are definitely a cold blue. 

Trixie falters, "We were just talking about the differences between here and the Boston Contemporary." 

"Were you giving her a hard time?" 

"No. I - " 

Katya cuts her off, "Trixie, she's young and she does so much here. You can be as cunty as you like to me, but I don't want to hear that you've been giving Violet a hard time." 

Katya's holding eye contact with Trixie and she's definitely bright red in both cheeks now. She hates this feeling of being chided. 

"I know she can be frustrating sometimes, but just remember that she's so young she doesn't even know the dance to Stop by the Spice Girls." 

Trixie pushes her hands out one by one, brings her thumbs over her shoulders. 

"Yeah, exactly," Katya laughs. 

"Surely you're too old for the Spice Girls? Stop came out in 1997. Weren't you in college?" 

"Bitch, I was fifteen!" 

"Being born in 1988-1989 is definitely the sweet-spot for maximum Spice enjoyment." 

Trixie smirks into her straw. Katya nudges Trixie's knees with her own, "What are you working on?" 

Trixie shows her the software, "I might see if I can work around this bit. We're going to flood the floor but the director wants neon reflected on to it, and some more lights underneath the water. It's a fucking pain." 

"What's the scene?" 

"The main actor has just fucked some guy and leaves his apartment. She's walking through the city and then she thinks she sees her dead friend." 

"No, you can't ditch that. I love neon. It's so evocative of city life. When you feel alone in a crowd, it's like the lights are keeping you company. There's a shop downtown that sells eyeglasses and it has this neon sign that looks like it's winking. I remember standing outside it and watching it for hours one time. And they have this seediness about them. When you stomp through a puddle and the reflection of the lights goes all wibbly. You just know you're going somewhere you shouldn't be, doing something you shouldn't be doing." 

Watching Katya talk about her work, Trixie feels like she's just hit the brakes in her car. It's the breathless moment before the safety belt locks. 

Katya seizes Trixie's pencil case and the back of a napkin and starts sketching out puddles and the pink and green reflected in them. She just nods while Katya gets excited with shading and drawing little arrows to show Trixie where she'd want the lights to be coming from. 

Trixie can't resist grabbing Katya's leg under the bench. She sees Violet out of the corner of her eye, watching them with slightly less hostility in her face. Trixie decides to put Violet to the back of her mind for now. After the shitty year she's had, she wants to succeed at something. And she's hopeful that between Katya and her new show, she might have two successes. 

September brings longer evenings and colder mornings. Katya and Trixie find a rhythm. Trixie attends the LGBT women's group when she can. They don't announce their relationship to anyone, but there's a memorable moment when Katya helps Trixie into a hurdler's pose. Trixie is braced on her hands, nose just an inch away from the floor. Katya is helping her extend her left leg while she floats her right one. Katya sweeps her hand up the inside of Trixie's thigh and cups her hand right over Trixie's pussy. Trixie makes a strangled noise. 

When Katya steps back the pose falls apart. 

"Don't worry, that one's hard. It will come when your balance improves further. You could never have done that a few weeks ago." 

Trixie chafes under any criticism, but something about Katya's warm teaching voice makes it easier to stomach. That evening Katya rides Trixie's face. Katya urges Trixie to spread her legs, using her hands on her thighs to press them and spread them as far as possible. Trixie moans at the stretch. 

"Keep them open for me. You're doing really well. I've been thinking about this all day," Katya whispers in her teacher voice, and lowers herself slowly down so she's licking Trixie too. She keeps her hands on the tops of Trixie's thighs. They're burning. Trixie comes outrageously quickly, panting into Katya. Katya comes shortly afterwards, rolls off Trixie and laughs for five minutes straight. Trixie develops a habit of touching herself while imagining Katya coaxing her in that gentle teacher voice. 

They never go on the boat lake. Katya refuses to do anything relating to the Freedom Trail. They go leaf collecting in the Arnold Arboretum and Trixie can tell Katya is quietly pleased when Trixie tells her that Fall really is more spectacular in New England. Trixie wants to make a spectrum of all the different shades of orange she can find. She sends Katya off to find the perfect leaves and discards the ones she brings back with jagged edges or streaks of mud. They take books down to the floating docks on the esplanade. Trixie loves watching the water, and sharing Katya's scarf as the sun goes down. Katya takes Trixie for really excellent pho with a perfectly clear broth. They spend a lot of time in JP. Trixie likes how everyone seems to sit out on their porches in the evening, and she photographs JP's enormous hat shop for Bianca. They go for walks in Katya's favourite cemetery and visit the graves of Anne Sexton and E.E. Cummings. Shortly after, both of them admit to each other that they don't actually like poetry at all. 

Trixie's production is going well. She pops into the rehearsals, but mostly works from home or the centre. She spends a few days welding and wiring in the theatre workshop, making the pieces of the set that involve electronics. She photographs it from every angle for Katya. When she takes delivery of the neon signs from the specialist maker she actually screams with excitement as she pulls them out of the polystyrene. She's gone with Katya's suggestion of a winking eye in a triangle, and she can't fucking wait to see it light up on the stage. The Assistant Stage Manager decides to dye the water black to get even stronger reflections, and they have a fun afternoon in the workshop playing with different ways of doing it. Trixie meets with Irma and her Deputy Stage Manager, and they go through the script, marking up each of Trixie's lighting cues. 

It's a drab and drizzly day in Boston. Trixie is using it to sort out her laundry before the chaos of next week's technical rehearsals, while Katya is using it to drive Trixie slowly insane. Trixie finishes balling up her socks and moves on to ironing a stack of black shirts. She may not like living in boxy shirts and starchy, baggy trousers but she can at least try and make herself feel put together. 

Trixie is mostly used to Katya's quirky habits, but today she's finding Katya's restless energy exhausting. She's lost count of the number of strange poses Katya has pulled herself into, and has got used to the thumping noise that means she's attempted to do a hand spring in the hallway. She jumped a mile when she wandered into the bathroom for a pee, to find Katya in the dark, silently staring at her own reflection in the mirror. 

She's just about to suggest that they go for a jog in the rain when Katya bounds over from the kitchen. 

"Had a text from Violet. It says "Dyke night at The Midway. This non-dyke wants to know if you + Porno Barbie are up for it?" 

"You can tell that living embodiment of a tragic Bettie Page sleeve that I saw on Tattoo Fixers that I am willing to consider it." 

"I have to say, Vi wins points for brevity there. I'm not typing all that. I'll just put, ‘OK’." 

"Katya, you text like someone's fucking mom." 

Trixie loses interest in her laundry immediately. She folds away her iron and hangs up what she's ironed already, leaving the rest on a chair. 

"If she wants Porno Barbie, she can fucking have it." 

Trixie roots around in her closet. She pulls out an old dress she bought for her ex, and prays she'll still fit in it. It's a short, long-sleeved dress in a pink latex. It's a bit tighter on the stomach than she remembers, and her tits are bulging dangerously out the top, but she still likes the way it hugs her body. Katya's eyes are practically on stalks, so she figures it will do the job. She carefully folds the dress into an overnight bag, and adds a pair of pink pumps. Trixie slips back into her day clothes, opens her lingerie drawer. 

"Sheer pantyhose? Hold ups? Knee socks?" 

Katya's eyes are glazed, "I mean, they all sound great..." Trixie smirks and stuffs a handful of various options in her bag. 

Lastly, she fishes out the 'Trixie' necklace that Kim made her at college. It's a pink, plastic monstrosity in a Mattel copyright breaching font. Trixie tries to wear it as often as she can. 

"Are you drinking tonight?" Trixie asks. She asks Katya this every time they go for a meal or a drink. The answer is the same.

"No, not tonight." Katya is exploring Trixie's well organised desk. There's lots of reasons why people choose not to drink, and Trixie doesn't want to speculate on Katya's. 

"God," sighs Trixie. "I was desperate for you last time. When you pulled my hair under the streetlamp, I was fucking throbbing." 

"You clearly said you weren't up for it! You were all like _'oh, I'm on my period!'_ " Katya imitates her voice, screws up her nose.

"I wasn't really on my period, and it wouldn't really put me off if I was. Surely you knew I was joking? I told you the truth when we were walking back to yours; I didn't want my perception to be distorted by the drink. But with the benefit of hindsight, I think I should have just asked you to take me home and take advantage of me." 

Katya shakes her head at her. "Oh, mama, no..." 

Trixie laughs, "You know you'd love me sloppy drunk and under your control," 

Katya freezes, and Trixie swears that she sees her nostrils twitch. _Bingo_ , she thinks. 

They head over to Katya's place to get ready so they can walk to the club. Trixie likes holding on to Katya's muscular bicep with both of her hands like she's a sailor holding the mast of a ship. She squeezes it as they walk, curls her whole body into Katya's smaller one. After being cooped up all day, Katya is bounding along the street like a dog, pointing at street signs and graffiti and honking with laughter. Trixie likes walking alongside Katya, she likes her big scuffed boots and her big red lips. In the fading light of the day their shadows are tall and long, topped with big bouncy curls. 

They make their way down the steps to the subway. As they get on the carriage she stops holding on to Katya, winks at her. The carriage is packed, it's rush hour and commuters are engrossed in their newspapers or some sort of gadget. Already, the middle of the carriage is full of people holding on to the straps above their heads, managing to hold their phones with the other hand. Katya and Trixie are stuck by the door. Trixie is stood next to a group of men in suits, all talking about some 'case' and running their eyes over her, conspicuously mentioning large sums of money. Katya is pressed up against a man that looks like he smells of piss. The windows are so scratched up you can barely see out of them. 

Trixie steps into Katya's personal space but doesn't make eye contact. She stares in the space beside Katya's head. "Sorry," she mutters. She risks a glance at Katya's face in the reflection of the window. Katya gives Trixie a long, slow look with her lashes fanned on her cheeks and her teeth bared. Trixie takes another half step into Katya's personal space. Trixie's breath on her cheek makes Katya shiver. She lets the movement of the train sway her. She's close enough that her breasts are bumping against Katya's with the rocking movement of the train. They're big and heavy and she knows they make Katya crazy. It's not just the train rocking her, she's leaning a little of her weight into Katya too. Trixie knocks their knees together, slides her thigh in between Katya's legs. Trixie fixes her eyes on the metal pole behind Katya and they continue like that for the seven stops, until it's time to change at Huntington Avenue. By the time they get off the subway together, Trixie can feel Katya practically vibrating next to her. 

When they get to JP it's dark, and Centre Street is just starting to get that weekend buzz. They stop at a 7-Eleven and buy a bottle of wine for Trixie and some pop for Katya, before making their way to Katya's apartment. 

Ever since she was a little girl, Trixie has loved getting ready around other women. In High School she remembers the squabbles about who chose the music, and drinking vodka mixed with juice and water in big ugly glasses. They shared mascara because they didn't know any better and used that thick, matte foundation in the glass jars. In college she had loved getting ready with Kim and Bianca, taking hours to get their make-up perfect and gossiping about which of the acting students were banging each other. 

The light in Katya's apartment is poor, but a little better in the bedroom. They sit cross-legged on Katya's bed with all their make-up pooled between them. Trixie has all her brushes in a pink roll up pouch, whereas all Katya's eyeshadows have dirty fingerprints pressed into them. Trixie brought her Bluetooth speaker in her bag and she's seeing how long she can get away with the West Side Story soundtrack. 

"It's funny that we're going back to where we first met. Well not where we first met, but when I first met you when you weren't working," Trixie says as she blends her contoured cheek in towards her mouth. 

"I was so miserable that night, and so pleased to see you," Trixie tries to speak without looking at Katya. Her cheek is her favourite part of her make up, and she's starting to dust on a bit of blusher now. 

"Yeah?" Katya is dabbing concealer under her eyes. 

"I was just so lonely. Irma went home to Chicago to see her kids. I could have gone with her but Bianca and Kim had already made plans. The guys just talked about their wives and girlfriends all night and then suddenly I'm in a room full of people, utterly alone." 

Katya sweeps her blusher blush over the back of Trixie's hand. 

"Come on Trix," Katya taps the stem of her wine glass, "You had better finish this if you want to get 'fucking a stranger drunk.'" 

Trixie laughs and knocks it back. 

"Last kiss before we do lipstick and can't kiss without fucking everything up." 

Katya leans across the bed and gives Trixie is a slow, deep kiss. She pulls Trixie's lower lip between her own and bites it lightly before pulling away. Katya slides on a long translucent dress with the constellations picked out in gold. It's navy and has fluted sleeves that hang all over her hands. She shrugs a green embroidered jacket over the top, ignoring Trixie when she gently suggests that the jacket may not be essential. 

The Midway is already busy when they get there. Violet's giggly and loose on something Katya says is probably G. She's head to toe in leather and all her friends are as lithe and gorgeous as she is. Trixie quickly realises they have put her in the same age bracket as Katya. At first, she's mortified. But after about twenty minutes she finds herself thinking that although these girls seem delightful, there's a gulf of life experience between them. 

When Katya goes for her third cigarette, Trixie pulls Violet into a quiet corner by her elbow. 

"Katya told you what I've been calling you in our messages, huh?"

"Yeah, did she tell you what I called you?" Trixie repeats her joke for Violet, and she's surprised by Violet's loud braying laugh that almost reminds her of Katya's. It's weirdly endearing. 

"Look, Violet, I just wanted to say that I respect what you do. I often come on a bit strong at first. In school they always used to say I had a 'slick mouth,'" Trixie tries to convey as much warmth as she can. 

"Oh, me too. Everyone thinks I'm a shady bitch at first." 

Violet swings her arm over Trixie's shoulder and gives her a squeeze.

Katya comes back from the bar with two shots in each hand, and Violet does a double take. 

"They're for her, she's wants to me to get her drunk and, quote, 'take advantage.'" 

"Come through, you fucking freak!" Violet shouts, and gives Trixie's shoulder another squeeze before shimmying off into the press of the crowd. 

Trixie starts to feel the effects of the wine and the shots, and guides Katya to the dance floor. Trixie closes her eyes and lets her body find the beat. It's not her favourite type of music but she finds the sweaty crush intoxicating. Katya is a compelling dancer. She rolls her body and pouts and mouths along to the words. Her hair is gold when the white strobe flashes over it. She tosses her curls into Trixie's face and grinds her hips against Trixie's thighs. It's painfully slow. Trixie can't get close enough to her, she wants to bite Katya's neck and make her put on a show for Trixie. That's very much not what was on the cards for this particular night, but there will be other nights. 

Katya never goes for a forth cigarette. Violet keeps bringing Trixie disgusting liquorice shots so they don't have to leave their little spot on the dance floor. Trixie has never liked Violet more. Katya's riding her thigh, scraping her fingers up the back of Trixie's neck. She can only hear fragments of what Katya is saying but "stretch you wide open", "so wet around me" and "until you can't take any more" definitely feature. 

Around 1am her head starts spinning, and the balls of her feet are burning. Her dancing has slowed to just raking her hand through her hair provocatively and shifting her weight from one foot to another. Violet and her friends have so much energy, they look like they've just arrived. Katya's equally energetic, despite running on nothing more than pop. 

"Kat," she shouts, "Can you take me home?" 

Trixie heaves herself up the steps to Katya's ridiculous attic apartment. It's messy, and she kicks off her shoes into a pile of old magazines. Her vision swims but she heads straight for the bedroom, using random bits of furniture to stabilise herself and push her along. She hates Katya for not letting her get pizza, but then she remembers Katya's body rolling under the lights. She decides that she doesn't hate her after all. 

She sits on Katya's bed, grateful for a few seconds in the dark. Her eyelids flutter closed. She feels a soft kiss on her hair. 

"Trixie, shall I just get some water and we can go to bed?" 

"No," she whines, tugging at Katya's hem. "Come on, you said." 

Trixie tries to bat her eyelashes at Katya. 

"Let me find you some facewipes, your eyes are going to be so gunky in the morning." 

That was not the response Trixie expected. 

She takes Katya's wiry hands in her own, places them on her shoulders. 

"You've been jittery all day," She presses Katya's hands further into her skin. "Come on." 

Katya closes her eyes, she takes in a deep breath and releases it steadily. Her nostrils are flared, her jaw tight. 

"Put your hands on your knees," Katya whispers. Trixie obeys instantly. Katya presses down even more firmly onto her shoulders. Trixie feels the pressure on her clavicle. Katya manipulates Trixie to the floor. She goes down neatly, hands still on her knees. She's squashed between the box-spring and Katya's muscular thighs. Katya widens her stance and lifts her dress, letting it fall over Trixie's head. 

Trixie is taller, but Katya's height is all in her legs, so Trixie has to lean up to put her mouth where Katya wants it. She'd rather lay her head on Katya's thighs. They are so strong and firm, and the room is still spinning. She could put her head on them and shut her eyes for just a second. But then Katya's fingers press into her hair and Trixie moans louder than she means to. The sound of her own arousal arouses her further, and she surges up into Katya's pussy. Katya is sweaty from dancing, and rough from not shaving for a couple of weeks. Her legs are spread but not far enough for Trixie to fit her whole face between them, so she makes do with nuzzling in between Katya's labia, before working her tongue in. Katya spreads her legs further, using her thighs to brace herself. Trixie sticks her tongue out further so Katya can rub against it. 

When she closes her eyes she sways a bit, but she keeps her hands firmly on her knees. Katya's holding her up with her fist gripped in her hair. Trixie's thighs are hurting from leaning up into Katya. Every time her muscles slacken and she sinks back down onto her thighs, Katya pulls Trixie upwards by the hair again. She loses track of time. Her ears buzz, her muscles burn, her scalp throbs, Katya's wetness slips down the back of her throat and over her chin. 

Katya pats the top of her head, "Get on the bed for me, Trixie. Hands and knees." Trixie fumbles her way onto the mattress. It's much softer than her own, and the way it lurches underneath her makes her feel a bit sick. 

Katya's hands on her hips steady her. They push up Trixie's dress and pull her underwear to the side. Trixie's wearing a matching, deep magenta set that she knows look so right. She can't stop making little shuddery moans as Katya runs her thumb up and down Trixie's pussy. It must look fat and oozing from this angle, and she wiggles back on Katya's hand. Two fingers slip inside her easily, and she sinks forward to rest her head on the sheets and close her eyes. 

"No," Katya says. Trixie whines. "Hands and knees, I said." 

Trixie pushes herself up properly again. Her arms shake. Katya keeps pumping her fingers in and out, and Trixie keeps whimpering out of her nose. Katya moves to three fingers and starts making a wedge shape, twisting them into Trixie. Trixie moans and presses herself back on Katya. At this angle she's tight and she doesn't know if Katya will be able to get that deep inside her, but she can't resist wriggling back on her knuckles. 

Katya withdraws her hand. She's been bending over a bit awkwardly, and Trixie hears her spine pop as she straightens. 

"Go and get my strap-on from that drawer," Katya points at the cheap closet at the other side of the room. 

Trixie flips herself over and scoots to the end of the bed, planting her feet on the floor. Katya shakes her head. She lightly clasps the back of Trixie's neck and draws her towards the floor until Trixie is kneeling. Trixie feels dizzy, and it isn't just the alcohol. The drink takes the edge off the embarrassment, only the pleasurable, squirmy sort remains. 

Katya reaches one hand over her shoulder and one hand up her back, grasping them. 

"It's the laughing cow!" Trixie feels proud of herself for remembering. 

"You mean the cow face pose. Why do you even know about Laughing Cow? Wisconsin is literally the only place in our shithole country that makes decent cheese." 

Trixie begins crawling across the floor, Katya's worn carpet burning her knees. She's so swollen that even the movement of her sticky thighs rubs her clit. She's painfully aware of Katya's eyes on her pussy as her back undulates in a full body shiver that she fails to supress. She crawls over a pile of Katya's dirty laundry. Ordinarily, she wouldn't even touch a partner's dirty socks and a hot ball of humiliation forms in her stomach as she puts the palms of her hands over Katya's discarded underwear. She can see one of the pairs of panties has discharge on the gusset. Somehow, the burning humiliation travels down her stomach and makes her cunt pulse even more strongly. When she gets to Katya's simple harness her drunk fingers get caught in all the straps and she spends a few seconds tugging them, working out the best way to carry it. 

"Don't you dare drag it on the floor. Use your mouth," Katya says from the side of the bed. She's still stretching out her shoulders, swapping her arms over between stretches. 

Trixie whimpers, but dutifully picks up the nylon webbing in her teeth. Her cheeks are burning up, and the heavy weight of the silicone hurts her jaw after only a few seconds. 

She drops it by Katya's feet. "Good girl," Katya says. She picks up one of Trixie's curls and twines it around her hand. Trixie kisses Katya's dry knees. The harness is definitely what Trixie would call ugly, and Katya tugs it on with little ceremony or sensuality. 

"Get back on the bed." 

There's a moment where Trixie's hands slip on the comforter and her knee goes from underneath her and she feels ridiculously oversized and ungainly. Katya grabs a handful of her ass and jiggles it hard. She feels the ripples all the way up to her tits. 

Katya moves her hand to Trixie's stomach, digging her fingers into the soft flesh there. She uses it to drag Trixie backwards onto the toy until Trixie's ass is flush against Katya's hips. Katya gives Trixie long, deep thrusts that make her cry out. 

"Hey," Trixie manages, "I've just remembered. You're sober." 

"Yes, I am," Katya sounds exasperated but amused. 

"I can't believe I'm letting you do this on the first night we've met properly outside your yoga class," Trixie puts on a tone of exaggerated surprise, lets herself sink into the fantasy of meeting someone for almost the first time, letting them bend her over and fuck her. Crawling on her knees for them. 

Katya cackles, "Yes, you're a right little slut." Trixie knows that she's just playing around, but she can't help mewling and pushing back on her. 

"I wonder what you'll remember in the morning," Katya continues and her voice loses that playfulness altogether. "What would you rather? Remembering everything and knowing that I asked you to crawl for me, and it made you this wet?" Katya runs her hands down the inside of Trixie's thighs to illustrate, and she clenches around Katya's strap on. 

"Or, would you rather have little gaps in your memory? And wonder what we did, and know that I will always have that bit of power over you?" 

Trixie gasps, a shiver runs the whole length of her spine and her back undulates under Katya. She can't help pushing back her hips now. She's using her hands to rock herself firmly back onto the silicone toy. She circles her hips to chase that angle she needs. The noises she's making are getting louder and louder. Every time she gets it perfect, she feels sparks shoot through her body, from her nose to the arches of her feet. Her eyes roll backwards with every thrust. She's panting noisily, and her ass is bouncing, and the small of her back is beaded with sweat. She can feel that Katya's hips are slimmer than hers, and that Katya needs to brace her thighs to avoid being pushed over by Trixie's ass. Katya's not moving at all now, just standing with her knees locked and feet wide apart while Trixie fucks herself. 

"You're fucking unbelievable," Katya breathes. Trixie arches her back and screws herself onto Katya's strap-on. The twisting motion feels incredible, so she does it again and again. 

Trixie usually can't come when she's drunk, she just rides the feeling until she gets sore and dry. She's nearing that point, but she just needs a few more minutes of this first. She feels like she's floating outside of her body. Katya grabs her hips with both hands and pulls her back sharply. Trixie keens, twists the comforter in her hands, squeezes her eyes tightly shut. And that's it, she's there. Her cunt flutters, and she grinds her forehead into the bed as the sensations go on and on. Her elbows give out and Katya pulls out, helps her roll to the side. 

Katya lies against the pillows with her legs spread. She cups the back of Trixie's head and pulls her to where she needs her. Trixie is gratified that Katya is at least as wet as she was. She doesn't bother teasing, doesn't even waste time licking teasingly up the dildo like she usually would to make Katya moan. She knows how Katya likes it now, and settles into a rhythm. They may be playing at being strangers, but this is fully girlfriend-head. She loves the taste and smell of her. Katya is already making soft noises and rocking her hips. The straps are cutting into her fat cheeks, and she has to hold her hand up to stop the dildo bumping her on the head. Within a few minutes Trixie can feel her eyelids droop. Her mouth feels clumsy and woollen. Her head sinks forward, her forehead landing heavily on Katya's pubic bone. Trixie snaps awake. She redoubles her efforts and hopes that Katya didn't notice her little lapse. She kisses and sucks at Katya's clit but soon her eyelids are drooping again and her sucks are getting slower, less frequent. Katya pulls her hair sharply and Trixie tries again, but just smashes her wide, soft nose into Katya instead. 

Katya chuckles and leads Trixie backwards by the hair, so Trixie's head lies on her thigh. Katya wiggles out of the harness and starts rubbing her clit. Her fingers make wet, sucking sounds that make Trixie's mouth water. Trixie shuffles her head so she can lightly kiss Katya's hand where it lays over her mons. The muscles under her head are trembling. She wants to speak but her lips are half-numbed by sleep. Katya comes quickly, whispering Trixie's name. She pushes her fingers inside Trixie's mouth, caresses her full lips with her thumb until Trixie feels a bit messy and undignified in a way that turns her on. Trixie slowly sucks them clean, and Katya dips her fingers inside herself to rewet them for her. Trixie mumbles her thanks and falls asleep with Katya's fingers resting on her tongue. 

For the first time, Trixie wakes up first. Her mouth feels disgustingly dry, the room is all too bright. They both forgot to take their make-up off, and Katya's thick black eyeliner is smeared across her cheek. She still looks beautiful. 

Trixie thinks about what she could do while she waits for Katya to wake. She thinks about washing the dishes, or running a cloth around the bathroom. She doesn't know much about what Katya reads. She thinks about investigating the crammed and dusty bookshelves for something that tells her something new about Katya. _No One Belongs Here More Than You_ is on the bedside cabinet, but Trixie's already read it. In the end, she decides just to lie there and aimlessly play on her phone. She lifts the covers to have a look at Katya's body. Katya's sleeping on her side and her breasts look small and tender where they rest on the sheets. Trixie could lean down and suck her long brown nipples into her mouth. Her stomach is slightly softer in sleep. Katya's hands, always moving, are relaxed; one under her cheek and the other splayed towards Trixie. 

Katya's green eyes flutter open, and she immediately leans towards Trixie for a kiss. 

"I wouldn't do that, I smell disgusting," Trixie kisses her freckled shoulder instead. 

"You hungover?" 

"Nah, I'm from Wisconsin." 

"How's your memory?" 

"'Inconveniently precise and accurate', said my stepdad's attorney." 

Katya rolls her eyes, "It's too early for this. Hang on – what is the time? You're never awake before 10." 

"Excuse you. It's half eight." 

"I haven't slept past eight since about 2006." 

Trixie leans out of the bed and grapples in Katya's purse for her Pyramids. "Here," Trixie lobs them at Katya's chest. "Don't say I don't treat you." 

Katya looks at her in disbelief, "I can smoke? In bed?" 

Trixie ambles naked to the kitchen, breasts swaying as she walks. She flicks on the drip-coffee machine, and smiles as she hears Katya tunelessly singing from the bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I threw up on you baby. Twice. 
> 
> Also, the show that Trixie is working on is a combination of a show I saw recently and loved, and Fleabag. Fleabag is so great and you really must watch it if you haven't.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Some talk of previous drug use and suicidal ideation.

Katya doesn’t have much to do with the theatre department at BWAC. They do a lot of confessional, monological pieces by local writers, some semi-professional acting groups and the odd piece devised by Violet’s friends. Of the three, Katya’s more likely to make the effort to see whatever Violet's friends do. They can usually be relied upon for gratuitous nudity, fake blood and even a bit of whipping. Katya also enjoys spending an hour or two dissecting the piece with Violet in the café afterwards. Violet's still got the pretentiousness that comes with youth, but Katya so admires her confidence and imagination. The technical preparation for most of that amounts to little more than an older volunteer named Rose swearing at the cobbled-together electrics, and the director-cum-stage manager holding the ladder. 

Tech week at the Boston Contemporary is a different beast. Trixie has been working from 8am to 10pm every day. Katya’s staying out of her way, she knows how seriously Trixie takes everything related to her job. 

She helps Ginger build a raised flower bed so people using wheelchairs can help with the herb garden. Ginger has leased a Kango drill to break the concrete, and Katya is tasked with sanding and painting the planks of wood to make up the beds. 

“Violet says you’re seeing someone,” Ginger says while troweling soil into what Katya has made. Ginger has a habit of starting conversations with Katya when they’re both focused on something else, and it always gets Katya talking more than she’d like. 

“It looks that way, yeah.” 

Katya gently smooths some drips out with her brush. She likes the way the bristles make tracks in the paint before the paint merges together. 

“What’s she like? Violet just told me that she’s a bit bowed up all the time, and likes it a bit rough.” 

Katya laughs and accidentally rubs a load of soil through her hair as she pushes her curls out of her eyes. She’s been kneeling for ages now, and her patella is screaming in pain. 

“I’m not sure she’d enjoy that description. I’d hesitate to agree with Violet, but you could perhaps call her an assertive power bottom.” 

Ginger guffaws, “That skinny bitch also managed to choke out that she seems creative, and she makes you laugh, and she has good hair.” 

Katya feels blood rush to her face. 

“I’ve missed her this week,” Here comes the inevitable flood of information she will regret giving Ginger later. “She’s working a lot at the moment. I’ve made six cushion covers and one pair of pajamas just to pass the time. I’m sure I used to do things in the evening that weren’t ranking every shade of MAC lipstick and eating her out.” 

“Does she know about…?” Ginger trails off, tactically turning away to bust open another bag of soil. 

“She’s seen me panic a bit. She knows I don’t drink. I don’t know, she hasn’t asked, and I haven’t told her. I’m fine now, she doesn’t need to know,” Katya feels the need to defend her decision. 

“It sounds like you’re a good match,” Katya knows that Ginger probably has more that she wants to say about Katya’s evasiveness. “The first words I’d choose to describe you would be creative and funny, and then probably kind.” 

Katya wants to lie in the flowerbed like a coffin and let Ginger fill her mouth and lungs with soil. 

“I love the fact that you still can’t accept a God damn compliment.” 

That evening, Katya sits in her little orange living room. She sits cross legged on the couch, sewing the elastic waistband into the harem trousers she’s been making. As usual, her apartment is a mess. The floor is covered in fabric scraps, sewing needles and thread. She’s lit a few candles on her low wooden table and The Sensual World plays softly on her battered CD player. It’s one in the morning, but she feels still and peaceful and wants to enjoy this for as long as possible. Even the pain across her shoulders from gardening is pleasing her. 

Katya jumps as her phone starts vibrating under her knee. For a second she expects Trixie to sound bright and bold on the phone, driving over with a hot bag of take-out and some outrageous lingerie. 

Instead, Katya answers the phone to Trixie hiccuping and sniffling down the phone. Katya thinks she’s trying to make words, but Katya can’t understand. 

“Trixie, are you in any danger?” She’s rubbing her head and grimacing, but her voice sounds firm and clear on the line. 

There’s silence on the line and then a small, sullen voice says, “No, I’m just upset.” 

“Well then let me hang up to call a cab and I’ll phone you back and we can talk until I get to you.” 

Trixie sniffles again, “No, I’ll drive. A taxi will be like $40.” 

“Only if there’s traffic, and I don’t care anyway.” 

“Okay, thanks, Katya,” Trixie’s voice is small, she sounds like a little girl. 

“Try some square breathing,” Katya demonstrates on the phone, they go through a few cycles together. It’s only then that Katya realises how fast her own heart was beating, how sick she had felt. 

“Wow,” Katya says in the voice she uses for class. “You’ve done a great job of calming yourself down. Can you maintain that for me for a few minutes?” 

Katya tells the driver she'll give him an extra tip if he gets there as fast as possible. He just raises his eye brows at her in the mirror in response. Before she can think about it she adds, "My girlfriend is unwell, I need to get to her as soon as I can." 

She doesn't think she's ever said those words before and she's surprised by how easily they slip off her tongue. It seems to unlock some sort of empathetic response and he swerves a little to get between two buses. 

"Thanks, dude." 

At first, she feels like she's got away with something, smirks to herself in the reflection of the dark mirror. But the longer she thinks about it, the more she realises that it sounds like such a plausible story because she's not actually lying. She calls Trixie back and tries to keep her voice soft and even. She can't keep her foot from kicking at the plastic sill of the door or her hands from picking at the "no smoking" sign slapped on the seat in front of her. 

Trixie wants to know about Katya's day, and so she rambles on about painting the flower bed, "What colour is the wood?" 

"A kind of eggshell blue? No, more Grey-blue." 

Trixie sighs, "That's nice. New England blue. Multi-seasonal, grown up." 

"That's what we thought! We've done it in a sort of three-sided square so people can use the whole bed even if they can't bend over very far. And people can work the same bit of the bed together, on different sides." 

Trixie hums appreciatively, "That's smart. Are you going to put a feature in the middle of the square?" 

"I think just a guide to what's planted where. I think we should have a chalkboard so people can update it themselves -" 

"But the rain - " 

"Yeah, I'm having a think on that one. I also made new pants for class." 

"What mind-bending combination of colours have you gone for?" 

Katya can hear the beginning of a smile in her voice, and she's willing to play the fool to get another one. 

"Well it's actually quite subtle..." 

"Katya Zamolodchikova and subtle are not two words I'd put together." 

"I'll make you some pink ones for Christmas." 

Trixie huffs though her nose, and Katya can tell she's tickled by the idea. 

Katya watches the blocks speed past her. The streets are quiet, Katya can only see a couple of groups of students, the odd pan handler. Winter is closing in. Only a few weeks ago people were wearing shorts and sandals on the street but suddenly everyone is in a palette of maroon and navy. The cab pulls up outside Trixie's building. Her neighbours have their lights off. The engine sounds loud on the quiet street. 

"I'm outside," 

"I know. I can see you," Trixie's voice is as sweet as when she's falling asleep on Katya's chest. 

Katya looks up and sees a tall figure at the window of Trixie's apartment, and the curtains twitch before the figure fades away again. 

The metre is $32 and after a moment of hesitation, Katya hands him two twenty dollar bills and opens the door of the cab. 

"Thanks, I hope your girlie feels better soon." 

Trixie's front door opens a crack and a small puddle of light spills on to the steps. 

"I'm your girlie now, am I?" 

Even in the dim light of the communal hall, Katya can see that Trixie is exhausted. Her broad, strong shoulders are bowed and she's walking like a cowboy, with stiff hips and splayed feet.  
Trixie doesn't wait for a response, leads Katya up to her apartment. She grunts with every step she takes up the stairs, heaving her legs up each one. The lights in her kitchen are bright and underneath them Katya can fully see how wrecked Trixie is. 

Katya stifles a little noise of shock as she takes in her dust and grease caked face. The only bits of Trixie's skin that Katya can see are the tracks her tears have made down her cheeks. Her hair is bunched up and frizzy and full of sawdust. 

Katya immediately folds Trixie into her arms. There's a strong smell of sweat coming off her. Katya doesn't mind that at all. The safety of being held seems to release Trixie's tears again, and Katya can soon feel the collar of her shirt getting damp. She puts her hand on the back of Trixie's head and it bounces with her hiccupy sobs. Trixie sobs for a few seconds more and then pushes Katya off her in a flurry of little shoves, "Sorry but no, not now. I'm vile. Let me shower first." Trixie shuffles off in the direction of the bathroom. 

Katya rummages in her drawers and finds Trixie’s favourite Dolly t-shirt and the grey sweatpants she wore the first time Katya stayed the night. 

Trixie's got the shower on full heat and steam billows out into the rest of the apartment. Katya stands in the doorway with the clothes looped over her forearm. 

"Do some stretches in the water. Bend over -" 

Katya hears a grunt which she assumes means Trixie has followed Katya's suggestion. 

"Let your hands swing loose, let them touch the water. Now straighten up one vertebrae at a time. Don't go fast, see if you can feel each one." 

Trixie groans deeply. 

"That's it, now stretch your arms out and pretend you've got pencils on the end of your index fingers. I want you to draw me some tiny circles with them." 

An arm pokes out of the shower curtain.

"Argh! That fucking hurts." 

"Good, it'll loosen your shoulders." 

Katya tiptoes into the bathroom, peeks behind the curtain. Where Trixie’s arms are stretched out at her sides, her breasts sit high and proud on her sternum. The hot water is turning her chest blotchy and red and making her hair look even longer. Katya moves towards her, entranced. 

Trixie cracks open one clever brown eye and smirks, "You can help me wash them if you want. But then I'm going to have a good cry in bed."

Katya nods open-mouthed. Her fingers are cupping Trixie's breasts before she even finishes her sentence. 

Trixie's standing in the bath, making her even taller than she already is, and Katya barely has to bend to slurp Trixie's wet nipple into her mouth. They're so heavy in her hands as she lathers them, making sure she pays enough attention to the crease beneath them where the skin is even more soft. 

She steps back before she gets carried away, "What do you want to eat?" 

"Something with ketchup?" 

"Something with ketchup?" 

"Yes, Katya," Trixie snaps, "We don't all have your refined Massachusetts palette!" 

Katya rolls her eyes, "Do you ever think your mum might not be the reason your dad left?" 

Trixie only cackles from inside the shower, then groans as she hefts her legs over the edge of the tub. 

Katya makes scrambled eggs. Usually at home she makes it in a cup in the microwave, then eats it with a spoon. For Trixie, she cooks them slowly on the hob with a whisk and a bit of milk to keep the eggs silky. 

With the ketchup bottle under her arm she follows Trixie into the bedroom. 

"Thanks for fixing me some clothes," Trixie says, eyes closed and head tilted back on the bedhead. 

"I made you eggs, I thought some iron might do you good." 

Trixie douses them in ketchup and shovels them in her mouth. 

Once she's eaten, she drops the plate on to the floor and uses a book to bat it across the floor away from the bed. She leans her head on Katya's shoulder. 

"You want to tell me what happened?" 

Trixie takes a deep breath, "Just a long day, really. I was really dirty because the set fit-up was today and there was just sawdust everywhere. And I was rigging the lights. We're not even supposed to be rigging now but we're working, like, a day and a half behind our schedule because of the idiot sound designer not thinking about where he's hanging his speakers. And of course, it's my team that needs to compromise. And the rig hasn't been cleaned in years, so my face and hands just got disgusting. I've been bending and climbing all day and I just fucking ache all over." 

As Trixie speaks her voice gets higher and more nasal, Katya has to stroke her forearm to bring it down a bit so she can hear her. 

"And the Sound Designer. He's a fucking idiot. He doesn't understand the way that sound and light complement each other. His ideas and mine are so tonally disparate, and he won't discuss his decisions at all!" 

Katya lets Trixie talk, adding soft noises of agreement and commiseration until she runs out of steam. 

"From what you say it sounds like he's intimidated by the fact that you can read music but he knows nothing about your field. And that's bullshit! It seems as though these interactions have left you feeling frustrated and demotivated." 

Trixie manages a small smile, "You're right, you're right. Ticket sales are going well, and he probably can't help being an idiot." 

Trixie's head starts to become very heavy on Katya's shoulder, so she rolls her on to her side. 

"Do you want to...?" Trixie slurs as she rubs herself back on Katya. 

Trixie's definitely too exhausted to fulfil any promises, but perhaps an orgasm will help them both relax into sleep. Katya moves her hand down from Trixie's stomach and starts rubbing her palm over the soft hairs there. 

"Let's think about something together while we get ourselves off. What about...you're a sexy surgeon and I'm your nurse. You've just finished surgery and you're up to your elbows in blood..." 

Trixie's eyes snap open, "Honey, up to my elbow in blood? That was you last Friday night, honey!" 

Katya wheezes soundlessly, shaking until the tiny fairy lights wrapped around the bedhead rattle against the wall. 

"Shut your eyes! Let me think of something calmer. We're on holiday in the south of France. You've been sweating all day and your skin is tacky and tastes of salt, and you're on a sunbed. You've got your hat over your face to shield your eyes. And I'm between your legs, licking you really slowly...." 

Trixie wrinkles her nose, "No, I don't want to imagine being sweaty. I want a story about fucking the hot yoga teacher." 

Katya groans. "So, I'm at a yoga class and I can't really be bothered to be there because my head hurts and I've got a tickly throat. But this woman walks in wearing a bra and leggings. Which is not a proper outfit and I should probably alert the authorities." 

Trixie sniggers into her pillow, "But you don't, because you want to fuck her right away." 

"That's right, I do" Katya rubs her nose into Trixie's neck. "I did,"

“I try and get you to do Halasana," She continues. 

"Which is?" 

"Plow pose. Because I'm going to plow you. Obviously." 

Trixie giggles again, "Go on." 

"And you're doing so good. You are strong, and you let me bend your legs exactly how I want them. When I step back you keep them there because you're so good at doing that for me." 

Trixie rolls her hips back against Katya and hums. 

"And I move around you, so I can make sure your toes are correct. I kneel beside your head and you can smell how wet I am already." 

Trixie hums again, but her hips are already slowing down. She's definitely falling asleep. 

Katya stops talking but keeps lightly rubbing at Trixie. She moves off her clit and just rubs over her mons in slower and slower circles. Trixie's hips stop their movements and her breathing evens out. Katya brings her arm up to Trixie's waist and closes her own eyes. She tries to still her mind, but it jumps erratically from image to image. She imagines eating fresh bread in France, slathered in salty butter. She imagines Trixie up a ladder, painting what music sounds like to her, just for Katya. 

She almost yelps when Trixie's long fingers suddenly grip tight around her wrist. Her eyes are shut but she says urgently, "If you need to smoke, don't go out in the street. Stay in here. Use the bathroom but put the fan on. It's not safe outside." 

Katya has to laugh, "This is Cambridge, not downtown Chicago." She doesn't add that she was born in this city and has been roaming the most dangerous parts since she was a teenager. 

Trixie doesn't let go, "Don't go outside, Katya." Katya is fairly sure that Trixie is half dreaming and won’t remember saying this in the morning, but Katya still doesn’t smoke outside. She waits until Trixie is fully limp and snoring and wiggles out of the bed. She hooks her legs over the side of the bath, feet in the same puddle left from Trixie's shower. She closes the bathroom door so the whirring of the fan doesn't wake Trixie. 

When Katya first started in recovery, each day seemed weeks long. Over time she managed longer and longer spells between using. She was careful about using smaller dosages, not asking for the strongest supply. She’d use some of a friend’s prescription meds to top her up if she was really rattling. For the first few days she was cranky and prone to headaches. She slept for 12 hours at a time; once she ate two boxes of chicken nuggets in one go. 

She tries not to think about recovery as a linear process, with a pass or a fail. She’d thrown away her phone and bought a map of the city, mercilessly marking off areas where she knows she can’t trust herself. In the last month or two of using she had experienced that famous amphetamine paranoia. It manifested in thoughts of cameras in her teeth and long black cars disappearing around corners. In recovery she was still anxious, with no distractions from the intrusive thoughts of not being good enough. She’d started NA and yoga, found a routine that worked for her. When she made her weekly call to her mom, her tone eventually turned from concern and skepticism to a kind of weary hope. For a year or two, it had seemed better than Katya could have hoped for. 

Katya thinks of her yoga notebook. She remembers undergraduates who are now tenured professors, with children. There was a woman who came to yoga as part of her therapy after an accident. She’s now completed the Boston Marathon three times. There are women who have got married, divorced, joined a triad. By contrast, Katya had achieved very little in the last eight years. 

Katya still thinks about killing herself. Sometimes, it's because she can't bear the repetitive inanity of decaying, waiting for death. She tricks herself by saying that she's not allowed do it today, but gives herself the permission to do it tomorrow. With the pressure off, she feels less distressed. When tomorrow comes, she does the same thing. It's effective, but it does leave her planning only for a day or two at a time. She tries a thought experiment. Where will she be in six months’ time? It'll be April, almost her birthday. Maybe she could invite her parents to dinner with Trixie. They could go to the Italian place her mom likes, they do some good veggie food there. Maybe her and Trixie will go back to the Arnold Arboretum and see the spring leaves. It sounds good, it sounds manageable. 

Katya started this thing with Trixie in a moment of spontaneous hedonism. She can let herself feel good about it until she remembers the online lists of what she’s got to look forward to. She’s spent hours illuminated by blue light, Googling things like _‘Long-term effects of amphetamine use,’_ _‘poly-drug use memory loss,’_ and _‘recurrent psychosis after amphetamine abuse.’_ Certain phrases stick in her brain, usually the ones about violent behaviour and brain damage. She imagines Trixie reading those pages, her pretty lipsticked mouth sounding out the words, connecting them to the woman she's been sleeping with for almost two months. Katya closes her eyes. She imagines Violet telling her to keep going, that she's doing well. 

She runs her cigarette under the faucet to put it out, and puts the butt in the bin. In the bedroom, Trixie is still sleeping, and doesn't stir when draws back the curtains. 

Katya remembers running into an old friend from high school at the mall. She'd had a baby, and they were both old enough that the baby hadn't surprised her. What had surprised Katya was that when they were talking the baby had started crying, and her schoolmate had just pulled the baby's hat down over his eyes to stop him. It worked immediately, and it was a such an effortlessly confident movement that it had played on Katya's mind for days. Katya had forgotten about it until she easily maneuvered Trixie on to her chest, unwinding her curls from where they are caught in her own armpits. Trixie starts murmuring, a little frown between her eyes. Katya kisses her forehead and she quiets again. 

Katya doesn't want to put a word to it, but she knows which one she'd choose. 

It surprises Katya, but they sleep steadily until they are both awoken by Trixie's alarm. Trixie takes a while to wake properly, staring mindlessly at the curtains while Katya fires up the coffee maker. 

Trixie eventually gets up to shower and dress. Katya toasts them both a bagel and they eat them standing. Trixie rests one hand on Katya’s hip and wedges a foot between Katya’s, leaning their bodies together. This close, Katya can see the signs of exhaustion in her face. 

“Thank you for last night, I really appreciate it” 

“That’s fine,” Katya pauses to swallow, “It’s what I’m here for.” 

“Yeah,” Trixie breathes, “I guess it is.” 

She leans in to kiss Katya. It’s slow, slows down Katya’s thoughts. She forgets that there’s a world beyond this square patch of sunlight next to the sink. 

“You can stay here if you want, when I go to work. I’ll leave you with my spare keys.” 

Katya’s heart speeds up. It wouldn’t feel right to be trusted with Trixie’s whole apartment. 

“I need to go the Centre to do some social media stuff for Ginger.” 

Trixie nods, “That’s fine. I’ll leave in about 20 minutes if that’s okay. Hey! You could walk me to the theatre if she’s not expecting you at a particular time.” 

Trixie looks hopeful, and Katya finds herself agreeing. Trixie is in a giggly mood this morning. Despite needing to wear all black and thick soled boots for work, her movements are so exaggeratedly femme. She presses herself into Katya’s side, twists her shoulder into her chest as she laughs, pushes her hair back from her face with the backs of her fingers. It all makes Katya want to pull out her guts and hand them over to her. As they walk through town, Trixie makes Katya stop in front of shops where neither of them could ever afford to shop, points out what she thinks would look good on Katya. 

Out of the blue Trixie asks her, “How does it work? Do they pay you a flat rate for everything you do at the Centre, or do you invoice them separately for teaching and social media stuff and gardening?” 

“How do you mean?” Katya is startled. 

“Well, surely you realise that people usually get paid for doing that?” 

Katya frowns, “Not when they work with friends.” 

“Please, Irma’s my friend. Kim’s my best friend and we worked together last year. You deserve to be recognised for your work and your talent.” 

Katya turns to draw Trixie’s attention to a jacket in a window she thinks would look good on her. 

When they get to the theatre Katya expects to leave Trixie at the door, but Trixie’s pulling her through corridor after corridor, each lined with flightcases and boxes of shoes labelled by time period. 

“You should come in,” says Trixie, leaning on a large brushed-steel door. “No, wait," Trixie says, planting her palm on Katya's chest, "I want you to see it when it’s done.” Katya doesn’t know quite what to do with herself now. 

“Can you remember the way you came in?” Katya definitely doesn’t, but as if she’d ever admit that. Trixie gives her one long, deep kiss before she says she has to go. Katya spends fifteen minutes in the bowels of the theatre trying to find the exit. By the time she’s on the street she’s gasping, and she breaks into a light jog to burn off the adrenaline. 

Katya doesn’t see much of Trixie for the rest of that week. She texts her in the evenings before bed, and mostly gets a reply. One evening she gets a video from Trixie, it arrives just as she’s crossing town and it takes a while to load. 

When it does, it’s a far away video of a stage. Trixie’s set looks magnificent. A few weeks ago, her and Trixie had sat up on Katya’s laptop and searched for pictures of Edinburgh and the way the set looms gloomily over the stage, grey polystyrene painted to look like wet brick, is perfect. Off camera, someone shouts “Let there be light!” 

A series of little lights flicker at the top of the set like stars. 

“Great,” comes Trixie’s voice from the side of the room, “Now try the neon,” 

The stage explodes in light and colour, and Trixie screams. She runs on the stage and checks a few things. Her face is dusty but not as bad as the night she called Katya. She punches the air and tap dances her way across the stage. Katya laughs in the street, stifling it with her scarf. On the screen, Trixie jumps off the stage and runs towards the camera, winking down the lens before the screen goes blank and then loops back to the start. 

That evening, Katya's phone rings while she's lying around sketching. 

“Hi gorgeous,” Katya doesn’t expect to hear Trixie’s voice, and she immediately starts pacing around her room. The good thing about talking to Trixie on the phone is that she still doesn’t let Katya get a word in. “The show goes up tomorrow. Once Irma is happy with it, I only need to come in for show call! So I’ll be free most days again.” 

Katya tries to dampen down the excitement she feels at this. 

“Do you want to come and see it? I can put your name down for any night you want.” 

Katya plucks a day out of the air. 

“Awesome,” Trixie says, “I’ll get you an aisle seat so you can get out for a break if it’s too much.” 

“Trixie. I’m anxious, not poor. I’ve been to a theatre before.” 

Trixie snorts down the phone. She doesn’t seem to be in the mood to bite, she just talks at Katya about Boston’s poor pizza compared to the pizza in Chicago. 

Katya finds herself looping around the same conversation with Trixie, but she doesn’t seem willing to hang up. Katya gets into bed, turns out the light and closes her eyes to imagine Trixie there. 

“I wish I was there,” Trixie whispers into the phone. 

“You’re just across the city, I’ll see you soon.” 

“But I want to be with you,” Trixie sounds petulant. “I even miss how messy you are.” 

They’re back at the beginning of the loop, but Katya can’t bring herself to stop it. Trixie makes the decision for them both, the pauses between her sentences get longer and her breathing gets deeper until Katya feels safe to hang up. 

The next day, Katya piles on a messy selection of her luckiest jewellery. The little charms jingling against each other annoy her in yoga, but when she’s at home she finds flicking the tiny plastic Virgin Mary round and round her wrist quite comforting. It feels like hours after the show must have ended before she hears from Trixie. She’s waiting for a takeout pizza and running her mouth. She’s got a few notes from Irma but she’s hyper, excited. 

On the day that Katya has tickets for Trixie’s show, she has three classes back to back. She is tempted to mention her evening plans to her students, but decides to keep it to herself. She showers off the day’s sweat, wraps strands of her hair around her fingers so they kink up as they dry. She pulls out a black and purple floral dress, then pauses as she undoes the buttons. She might surprise Trixie a bit tonight. She throws the dress on the back of a chair already groaning under the weight of Katya’s laundry, and pulls out the suit she wore to her cousin’s wedding.  
The pants are bottle green with tapered legs and pink flowers embroidered all over it. The suit jacket precisely matches. There’s a couple of pulls on it, but it still looks slick. The pockets are lined with black silk and she likes the way she looks when she stands with her hands in them, hip cocked. Underneath, she wears a black silky bodysuit with piping around the cups. 

She pulls her hair up in a loose bun, teasing out a few strands. She suddenly looks her age, and she’s giving herself full Lindsay Peterson realness, and she loves it. Katya tugs out an old bronze clutch and gets ready to leave. 

The foyer of the theatre is busy. It has a capacity of just over 1000 and Trixie has warned her that it's likely to be almost full. 

“I’m here to pick up a ticket for Miss Katya Zamolodchikova,” 

The woman behind the desk roots through a box of index cards for long enough that Katya starts to wonder if she’s got the wrong place, or the wrong day, or she’s asking for the wrong thing. 

“It might be under Trixie Mattel?” 

Katya reckons that that’s the sort of possessiveness that Trixie would go in for; she’d love Katya wandering around the building with Trixie’s name on her. The woman frowns, continues rummaging until her colleague leans over and says, “Comp tickets are in this one,” and hands her another box of index cards. The woman flicks right to the back, passes Katya a long slip of card. 

“You wouldn’t think Zamolodchikova would be a hard one to find!” She says with a straight woman chuckle, and Katya tries to give her best approximation of the same laugh back to her. 

Katya spots Trixie as soon as she walks in the theatre. She’s in a booth behind a screen, but the high ponytail and harsh lines of blusher and bronzer are unmistakable. Katya slows her walk to try and catch her eyes, but Trixie is moving a headset into place, and nudging some buttons on the big desk in front of her. The crowd push Katya along until Trixie’s out of sight. 

The seats aren’t the red, itchy plush of her childhood, but a modern dove grey mesh. Katya flicks through the programme, enjoying the feature on costumes and the illustrated map of Edinburgh. On the last but one page she sees Trixie’s name in an upright, bold gold font. 

_Trixie Mattel studied Theatre at the University of Wisconsin. Since graduation she has mainly worked in Milwaukee, Chicago and most recently Boston. Her most recent productions include August: Osage County (Dir: Irma Clarke); Uncle Vanya (Dir: Irma Clarke); The Bluest Eye (Dir: Florence Gamble.) Her upcoming productions include We Have Always Lived In The Castle at Boston Contemporary, the last show of Irma Clarke’s inaugural season._

Katya stares at the paragraph, reads it a few times to make sure she’s soaked in all the salient information. There’s nothing that comes as a surprise to Katya. But seeing it in one block, in a context completely separate from Katya, thrills her. 

She flicks back to the actors’ pages, then back to the one for the technical team. She wishes Trixie had a headshot, it’s unfair that the actors do but she doesn’t. Katya could have cut it out and kept it in her wallet. Katya always thinks that that sort of thing would be handy if she ever needed to have her body identified. She might cut out and save the whole paragraph. 

The lights go down, and Katya tucks it away in her clutch. The show is good, Katya likes the depiction of exhausted and morally bankrupt modern womanhood. She likes the lights more. From the opening shot of the actor standing in the middle of the stage, with one long strip of light turning from indigo to orange behind her, Katya can feel Trixie’s voice. The shadows on the chair the actor leans on are long; Katya remembers Trixie squatting on the floor of her kitchen to watch the way the shadows shorten as the sun rises fully. 

In the second act a piece of the stage folds away and bright white lights deepen the perspective. It’s clever, and the swirling dust in the crisp bars of light are beautiful before a piss orange light casts across the actor’s face. 

Trixie always tells Katya that her usual rule is ‘orange for faces, blue for spaces’, but this queasy shade of orange conveys no warmth. It’s the orange of a guilty morning after. The actor’s eyes are dark and searching in their sockets. The way the blue light hits her from below gives it a feeling of unheimlich. 

The neon looks better than on the short video Trixie sent. The wet-look faux brick and the inked puddles reflect the pink and turquoise neon light, giving the whole stage a seedy, late night look. 

She doesn’t cry at the end, she never does. The conclusion was obvious from the first act, the main character kept on seeing her dead friend because she fucked her friend's boyfriend before her friend killed herself. Now she drinks and snorts and fucks herself blind to forget. She’s not the first or the last person to do it. The two women either side of her are sniffing and swallowing thickly. 

Katya waits in the foyer. The actors arrive first, looking nonchalant while swaddled in long coats and scarves. Some people that Katya doesn’t know walk by, and then she spots Trixie striding down the corridor, still in her theatre blacks. She pulls her long hair free of the tie as she stalks towards Katya, and greets her by pulling Katya in by the lapels. 

“This suit is sexy,” Trixie purrs. Trixie’s eyes are already dark, and Katya feels the strength in the hands holding her by the silky fabric. 

“Thanks, I bought it for my cousin’s wedding.” 

Trixie gives her a slow smile, teeth catching on her lower lip. Katya isn’t sure what is amusing about her cousin’s wedding, but a hot and dirty feeling grows in her stomach at Katya’s smile. 

“Come and meet the guys,” Trixie is stroking her fingers down Katya’s forearm. 

Katya doesn’t really want to, but Trixie keeps that smile up and she finds herself nodding. Trixie holds her hand until she gets to the backstage office. Katya spots two men coiling cables while a woman piles costumes into a large laundry bag. 

“Hi everyone, this is Katya. Tom and Caleb are Sound Technicians, Jenny is our amazing Assistant Stage Manager.” 

Katya waves, they wave. 

“Katya’s from Boston. She’s a bit older than me so she might remember what you were saying earlier, Caleb.” 

“What’s that?” Katya fixes her face into an expression of pleasant interest. 

Caleb’s voice is gruff. He’s missing all his R’s, like a true Bostonian. He reminds Katya of her old math teacher. 

“I was telling Trix that this used to be an ice rink before they refurbed it and put all that metal shit on the front.” 

“Yeah, I remember,” Katya says. “I was never allowed to go. Dad used to say that in Russia he spent all of his time trying to avoid walking on ice, but Americans pay to do it for recreation.” 

Caleb chuckles politely, but Trixie screeches. 

“That’s exactly what my Native grandma used to say about white people and jigsaws. They’re so bored by their lives, they need to invent problems.” 

Katya's tickled by this, she laughs and claps her hands together in delight. No-one else laughs, but that's fine by Katya. She enjoys giggling with Trixie, feeling like two naughty girls at the back of the school bus. 

“Let me grab my shit and we’ll go home,” Trixie starts stuffing her laptop, lanyard and some pink stationary in her bag. 

“Fuck – my hummus is in the refrigerator. I'll just quickly get it,” Trixie disappears out the door. 

Caleb stares at Katya, Katya stares at Caleb. She shifts in her black heels, pulls up the cup of her bodysuit. 

“You catch the Sox game against the Astros?” 

“Nah,” she replies. He doesn't make any further attempt at conversation. 

Caleb and Tom go back to coiling up cables. Jenny hauls the bag out of the room. 

“You ready?” Trixie reappears in the doorway, rucksack slung over one shoulder. 

She’s quiet as she leads Katya to her car, then crowds Katya up against the cool metal. With Trixie in her steelies and Katya in heels they are almost the same height. Trixie is aggressive in her kisses, biting at Katya’s lips and pulling her ears. 

“Trix, come on. I want to get home now,” Katya pants into Trixie’s hair. Her shoulders feel stiff and heavy with wanting to fuck Trixie. Her hands tingle, she doesn’t know where to put them. Even as she tells her to open the car door, she rocks her hips against Trixie. 

Trixie looks beautiful while she drives. The bands of yellow light on the freeway pass over her face quicker and quicker as she accelerates. The raindrops on the windscreen look like stars as they reflect the light of oncoming cars. She doesn't remember Trixie driving this quickly before, but Trixie seems wild with adrenaline. She digs her fingers into Trixie’s upper thigh. Her own top lip is sweating, and Trixie’s leg vibrates under her hand. Trixie stabs at the radio, but the late-night dance music just makes Katya think of grinding into Trixie. She cracks her knuckles.

Trixie’s driving is getting faster and more reckless. A car segues out of the inner lane and into Trixie’s, pulling out in front of them. She doesn’t slow or brake, just keeps her eyes on the road and her hand perfectly still on the wheel. Katya can see every wrinkle in the plastic bumper stickers on the car in front, and Trixie’s just smiling. Katya’s never been afraid of death, has invited it too much to fear it. That’s coming in handy now, because she suspects that most other people would be clinging to the car door and closing their eyes in the face of Trixie’s driving. 

“How can’t you drive?” Trixie raises her voice to be heard over the roaring engine. When all her friends were learning, Katya had been far too anxious to even think about sitting alone in a small tin box with an old man. Then she’d been in art college in the city, and spent most of her 20s using various substances and trying to avoid killing herself. 

She shrugs, “I’ve always lived centrally. Never needed to.” 

Trixie stares at her, “I love driving. My granddad taught me on all the dead roads in Northwoods, and I did the test the day I was allowed. I drove myself to college, and never drove home again.” 

Trixie takes a corner smoothly and capably, before overtaking three other cars in their lane. 

“I could teach you.” 

Katya imagines herself in control of this two-ton death machine. She’d rather not. 

Trixie shrugs, takes one hand off the wheel to rub Katya’s knee. Katya’s knee is aching from the cold and sitting all evening, and she’s grateful for Trixie’s big hot hand curled over her kneecap. 

“Did you like the show?” 

“I did. My favourite bit was the white light. I felt that was her, you know, self-awareness. And then when it went orange that was her shutting that awareness down.” 

Trixie hums as she bangs a left. Katya knows she likes listening to Katya ramble and hypothesise. 

“And even though she knows what she’s doing is self-sabotage, she’d rather just do that than face the actual truth. Because those self-sabotaging behaviours are comforting, even though they also make you feel like shit.” 

“Anything else?” Trixie smirks as she watches Katya bite her nails and think. 

“The shadows were really clever, and the way you used them to demarcate space. Her lifestyle and her relationships are all in that liminal space, so it makes sense that her material boundaries are somewhat liminal too.” 

Trixie sighs, “I could listen to you talk about my work for hours.” Trixie looks as smug as an overfed cat. Katya needs to get to JP now, so she can throw Trixie down and fuck her until she can’t move or speak. 

Trixie’s running up the steps to Katya’s attic apartment practically as soon as she switches the engine off. Trixie pulls at her own clothes as she steps through the door, and heads straight to Katya’s room. Katya tries to slow herself down, and follows Trixie’s hips as they sway inside her dull black cargo pants. 

“I like that suit but get it the fuck off,” Trixie yells loud enough for the neighbours to hear as Katya makes her way through the living room. 

Katya finds Trixie in the exact middle of Katya’s bed. Trixie’s spent a few of the precious seconds before Katya came in fanning her hair around her head like sunbeams. She’s got her knees bent outwards, pink cunt out, breasts flopped to either side of her rib cage. Her belly rises and falls with her fast breathing, and her plump little toes hang over the edge of the bed. She looks opulent, the picture of joyful gluttony. 

Katya kicks the body suit off her legs and tugs her hair tie roughly from her hair, and launches herself on the bed. Her teeth close around Trixie’s nipples and she can’t stop her full weight from landing on Trixie. 

“Fuck me, Katya,” Trixie’s laughing, and the shrill sound of it is making the hairs on Katya’s neck stand on end. She brings her legs up around Katya’s body, bucking up against her. Trixie keeps her nails short, but she scrapes the hard stubs against Katya’s shoulder blades. Katya ignores her, kisses softly from just under her earlobe to her clavicle. She’s been desperate to fuck Trixie for hours and she wants to take her time. 

“Come on,” Trixie’s voice is low and frustrated, she sounds like she’s trying to open a sticky lock. “I want you to fuck me.” 

“Now?” 

“No,” Trixie rolls her eyes, “I want you to fuck me in ten minutes. Christ.” 

Katya bites her neck in retaliation. 

“Yes, fuck, that’s more like it,” Trixie’s voice is high and breathy. They often fuck roughly, but Trixie’s still full of adrenaline and it’s making her jittery and unpredictable. Katya knows she has to be careful, feels overwhelmed and lightheaded at the thought of it. 

Trixie’s drenched but Katya still grabs the bottle of lube next to her bed and pumps it roughly over Trixie’s pussy. She hisses at the cold temperature but moans at Katya drags her fingers over her, moving the fluid from her clit to her entrance. Katya pushes two fingers inside of Trixie, and she gives a breathy little moan that Katya knows is calculated to sound inviting. Katya obediently works at Trixie’s pussy until she’s pushing her fist inside her. It’s what she’s wanted all along, it’s what she meant by ‘fuck me.’ Sometimes Trixie’s shy about saying the word, and Katya will tease it out of her, but not tonight. 

Trixie gives her first real, authentic shriek when she stretches past the fleshy part of Katya’s thumb and then contracts around her wrist. Her head lolls to the side and she moans deep in her chest. Katya can practically feel the rumble through the bed. Trixie tries to cover her mouth with the back of her wrist. 

“Trixie, I’ve told you about this before,” Katya gently pushes Trixie’s hand back on to the pillow. 

Trixie’s eyes widen, and she blinks up at Katya. Trixie’s eyes often start rolling in the back of her head at this point, but tonight she just stares mindlessly through Katya. 

“That good?” Katya asks. Trixie’s cheeks are bright red and her nostrils are flaring broadly with every breath, but Katya wants to check. 

Trixie speaks through gritted teeth, “Yes it’s good, you fucking cunt. Harder.” 

Katya knows Trixie gets like this when she’s desperate. It gets Katya dripping between her own legs, shifting to relieve some of the pressure. She screws in and out of Trixie’s cunt slower than she would usually do. She settles herself over Trixie’s thigh so she can rub against it, and uses her other hand to lightly thumb over Trixie’s clit. Trixie is whining through her nose in one long note, until she tucks her chin to her chest and opens her mouth. The sound mutates from a keen to an ungodly, deep noise that sounds more like anguish than pleasure. 

Every time Katya pushes forward, Trixie lifts her hips to meet her. She’s taking Katya in deeper and deeper. Trixie leans forward and grabs Katya’s elbow, trying to push Katya further into her. Katya tenses her biceps, doesn’t let Trixie pull her in. Trixie reaches for Katya’s free hand and brings it up to her throat, choking herself with Katya’s hand. Trixie groans and writhes against the bed. Katya’s pulsing but she shakes her hand free of Trixie’s. She'd like nothing better than to press down on Trixie's throat while she fucks the rest of the air out of her lungs, but she needs to keep a clear head with Trixie in this mood. 

It comes as a surprise when one of Trixie's hands comes flying to her face, missing her cheek but flapping ineffectually against her ear. Trixie grunts and pulls her hand back, prepares to take aim at Katya’s face again. It looks like she has a better aim and better form this time but Katya’s ready to catch her fist. 

“The fuck you think you’re doing?” 

“I told you to fuck me harder,” 

“But I didn’t want to,” Katya makes sure to affect a confused tone, like she can't believe what Trixie's saying. 

Trixie frowns and looks so ridiculous that Katya can’t resist laughing and bending down to kiss her. She wiggles her hand pull free from Trixie. She flexes her fingers, and starts brushing them over Trixie’s slippery labia. She rubs Trixie’s clit, using the exact angle and pace that she knows Trixie likes for a quick and dirty orgasm. 

“Maybe I want you to come empty.” Katya gives Trixie that low-lidded look that she knows gets Trixie squirming. 

Trixie thrashes her head on the pillow, “Please, don’t. I want to come with you inside me.” 

Katya makes sure to give her a dark look, a hint of a sneer on her hard mouth. It’s acting, but Trixie’s too far gone to notice. 

“All powerful Trixie Mattel doesn’t always get everything she wants.” 

Trixie whimpers, arching up into Katya, "Please?" 

Katya responds by swivelling her hips on Trixie’s thigh, rubbing her wet cunt quicker and harder against Trixie’s skin. Trixie tenses the muscles in her thigh, trying to make things easier for Katya. 

Katya puts her fingers back at Trixie’s entrance, pushing them in softly. Trixie’s even wetter than before. As Katya presses forward Trixie clenches rhythmically on Katya, her clever pussy pulling her fingers in inch by inch. Soon, they’re back to where they were before. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Trixie’s chanting under her breath.

Katya almost takes pity, “Do you want it harder, sugar?” 

Trixie nods, mouth gaping. 

“Well you can’t have it. I want you to come exactly like this.” 

Katya is rubbing her knuckles against Trixie’s walls. She’s puffy and sensitive inside, and Trixie’s legs start twitching and shaking like they always do when Katya fucks her like this. 

She tilts her cheek towards Katya, and Katya knows it’s an invitation to slap Trixie’s face. Usually she’d take it, but she’s still trying to keep a shaky hold on the reins. Instead, she sucks her cheeks to gather up the spit that has been welling there. She leans over Trixie and Trixie clocks her immediately, lips parting obediently. Katya suddenly can’t do it, and swallows. She tries to cover it up by kissing Trixie deeply. She loves the vibrations of Trixie’s moans inside her mouth, the heat radiating off her face. 

She brings her knee over Trixie’s thigh so she can kneel properly on the bed, in between Trixie’s legs. She bends over Trixie and feels a bit more grounded. Trixie’s wet and relaxed enough that she thinks what she’s planning to do will probably be fine, and any pain will just be the final push over the edge that Trixie needs. She pulls her fist out and snaps it back in, and Trixie’s coming. She’s bracing her feet against the bed and pumping her hips up and down. Katya doesn’t know whether to look at her red, sweaty face, or her pulsing cunt around her wrist, or the way her ass squashes out as it meets the bed. 

Katya gently dislodges herself from Trixie and allows Trixie to pull her up on to her chest. She’s desperate to be touched, but the urgent need to fuck Trixie has passed somewhat. She mouths over Trixie’s sweaty breasts as Trixie giggles to herself, like she usually does when her orgasm has been particularly overwhelming. 

When she gets her breath back, Trixie pushes Katya over to lie on her back. Katya groans in pure anticipation of Trixie’s mouth on her. The first long sweep of Trixie’s tongue is overwhelming, the sensation radiating out through her pelvis. Katya knows she’s going to come soon. She relaxes into it, rolling her head on the pillow and pinching her own nipples. 

Of course, because Trixie’s set on being a fucking twat, she moves down to swirl her tongue around Katya’s asshole and suck at her entrance. She makes a show of it, using her lips to make a variety of slurping and smacking noises. 

“Lick my clit," Katya groans, "God, you're being a stupid bitch tonight.” Katya feels Trixie’s sharp inhale at the words. She meets Katya’s eyes and there’s a fire in them that Katya wants to keep stoking. Katya grabs a fist of her hair. 

Trixie slowly moves up and laps at Katya’s clit. Katya loosens her grip on Trixie’s hair and lets her muscles relax. Within a few minutes Trixie is slithering her tongue back down again, moaning loudly into Katya. She’s had enough of this behaviour, and clamps her thighs firmly around Trixie’s ears. Katya knows that Trixie would win in a fist fight between them. Tonight though, Trixie’s out of luck. The strongest parts of Katya’s body are her thighs and there’s not much Trixie can do to get out of their grip. 

She traps Trixie’s head just a centimetre or two before her cunt, and Trixie whines as she tries to reach it. When she sticks her tongue out, it can just about brush against Katya’s soaked pubic hair. Trixie still tries her best though, forcing her tongue as far out as it can go. Trixie braces her hands on the bed and tries to shove herself further along. But Katya doesn’t let up, presses her thighs together harder. Trixie’s eyes redden, start to glimmer with tears. 

Katya spreads her legs and Trixie immediately buries her face properly in Katya’s cunt. She’s learnt her lesson, getting Katya off studiously and efficiently as Katya pats her hair. 

It doesn’t take long for her to come, and soon Katya is being cradled by Trixie while she shamelessly licks her own wetness off Trixie’s cheeks. She wants to say the words she has started to allow herself to use in her own head. Trixie lollops off to the bathroom. When she comes back her skin has already cooled considerably. She wraps herself tightly around Katya, peppering little kisses over Katya's shoulders. Katya loves the way Trixie touches her body, especially when she's replete and drifting into sleep. 

“Goodnight Katya, I’m so happy you liked the show,” Trixie whispers. 

Katya holds the words back, feels them rumbling around behind her teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to un-dedicate this chapter to the complete cunt who tried to read my writing and then steal my notebook off me when I was writing in the pub, and then got so aggressive with me that I had to square up to him and then threaten to phone the police.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read something in the paper this week about Americans not using the word cunt very much. Sorry if there has seemed like a really excessive use of cunt in this fic! Being from the "Celtic fringe", it's second nature to me!
> 
> I had way too much fun Googling Barbie dolls for this.

They are firmly into the last but one week of the production, and Trixie has fully embraced only going into work late in the afternoon for her preshow set up. 

Trixie starts the morning flat on her back with Katya kneeling over her. Trixie's got her hand between Katya's legs and she's so wet it's dripping down Trixie's fingers and pooling in her palm. Her nipples are hard and pebbled as they squash into Trixie's breasts. They haven't left Trixie's bed yet and their skin is burning hot under her heavy sheets. Katya won't kiss her because she hasn't brushed her teeth yet, but she has her face jammed against Trixie's, her breath moist and hot against Trixie's skin. She's mouthing over the plump curve of Trixie's cheek and when she comes she bites down lightly on the round apple of it. 

Sooner than Trixie likes, she's waving Katya off. Katya tries to tempt her to join in with over 50s yoga but she simply can't be bothered. She's not in work until five; she should probably be preparing for her next contract or at least sorting out the laundry, but she knows that she won't. 

Instead, Trixie lies on her sofa cocooned in her old college sweater. It's stretched and faded, and if she's honest it smells a bit because she can never bear to not have it for as long as it takes her to do her laundry.

She's thinking of using some of her second paycheck to buy a Barbie to celebrate her moving to Boston. She wants a seasonal one to remind her of her first New England Fall, and finds herself poring over the Autumn in Paris doll. It's ridiculous, but she's drawn to the little cane. She knows the velvet, feathered hat will make Katya laugh and she's just about to send her a picture when Bianca's face pops up on her tablet. She flicks the little arrow to the left and Bianca's live, animated face fills the screen. 

Bianca's driving, her phone holstered in to her dash and giving her a really unflattering angle on her chin. 

Bianca spends the first ten minutes of the call ranting about the various assholes she's working with, taking breaks only to commentate on the other drivers on the road and occasionally swear out of the window. 

"So, how's Rebound?" 

"Her name is Katya, Bianca." She wants to add that she'd left the burning remains of her last relationship four months ago, and that Katya is nothing like any woman she's dated before. But if she does, she knows she's just opening the door to further acid comments from Bianca. 

"And how's it actually going with Miss Definitely-Not-Pearl?" 

Trixie rolls her eyes, there's no point trying to get anything different from Bianca this afternoon. 

"It's going good."

"Have you taken a shit in her house yet?" 

"Only one, a very ladylike one, while she was outside having a smoke." 

"Fuck! It must be love!"

"Oh shut up!" Trixie can't be bothered to deal with this. 

"No, tell me. Go on, I'm listening now."

Bianca's not really listening, she is navigating her way through the Kennedy Expressway. Trixie doesn't mind too much, it's easier to make confessions when she's not staring directly into Bianca's face. Bianca has this look, all wide eyes and tilted head, that manages to convey both expectations and judgement. 

"It honestly is really good.”

Trixie tells Bianca about how Katya will send her pictures of shops with puns in their name, and how Katya likes to sit behind her in bed with big bunches of blonde frizz in her fists, and plait Trixie's hair for her. Bianca hums ever so often, but her eyes are scanning the road for asshole drivers to shout at. 

"How many of her exes did she meet at yoga?" 

"None. Well, none that she's mentioned."

"Sounds like the perfect environment to have a constant stream of women throwing themselves -" 

"I did not throw myself, Bianca. I don't know why you're being such a shit about this, when you encouraged me before."

"When it was just fucking, sure. But I know you like to get entangled. You're alone in a different city, and you know what your doctor said. Your standards might have slipped - " 

"They haven't slipped,” Her voice is firm and she stares Bianca down. 

Trixie remembers something that made her laugh, "Katya has all these old lesbian CDs and she brings them to listen to in my car. They're always really bashed up. Some of them my CD player just spits out. The other day we were driving and we had Little Earthquakes playing. We were both yelling along like complete idiots and I swear she knew every word to every song. Well, apart from Me & A Gun. I skipped that one."

She interrupts herself, shakes her head to clear it. Bianca's eyes are mostly on the road, but they flicker to Trixie every few seconds. 

"We were listening to Precious Things and she was being downright obscene when she was singing 'so you can make me come...', and then you know the 'little fascist panties' bit?" 

Bianca makes a vague noise, Trixie knows she hasn't listened to Tori Amos in years. 

"Well, she flicked her legs up onto the dash and kicked out the rhythm of the drum bit perfectly.” 

Trixie laughs at the memory of Katya's skirt flying up, her boots on the dash with their unevenly worn-down soles, the glee in her eyes when she was perfectly on beat.

Bianca looks at her with her head tilted, an "Is that it?" expression on her face. Trixie laughs anyway, Bianca doesn't have to get it. 

"Anyway, I don't think depression means you lose your concept of standards." 

"How is that going? I mean, how are you feeling? About that...aspect," Bianca lurches to a halt. It's a rare occasion, but Trixie likes to see Bianca occasionally struggling with expressing herself. 

"I'm still taking the medication, but I feel better. I feel a bit less like I'm looking at the world through a dirty window. Katya doesn't drink that often, so I've stopped buying wine to have in the refrigerator just in case. She's an early riser so I don't sleep in past mid-day as much. At least not when she stays over at my place."

Bianca hums appreciatively. 

"She's coming on a little break with me next weekend. We've sold out all our dates here so Irma's contact in Philly has given us a couple of dates in his theatre."

"Oh my God, bitch, you should have started with this actual news, not that Tori Amos shit!" 

Trixie can't hide her smile, "Yeah, it's pretty cool.” It's definitely the coolest thing to happen to Trixie in her career so far. 

"In all honesty, they don't need me at this stage. I could probably just send my instructions to their technical team to set it up and operate the cues. But the minute Irma mentioned it, all I could think of was fucking Katya on fresh white sheets that are magically changed every day."

"And it would be handy to have contacts in Philadelphia," 

"Yeah, that too. But eating waffles off a tray in the middle of a fucking King-sized bed was my primary motivation." 

"Or eating waffles off your girlfriend," Bianca's voice is sly. 

Trixie knows Katya would let Trixie lick warm maple syrup off her hard stomach, and she blushes hard just thinking about it. 

Bianca is stuck at a red and her eyes are boring into Trixie through the screen. Trixie often suspects her best friend can read minds. 

"So," Trixie starts again, "I went to Faneiul Hall the other day. Cradle of liberty and all that."

"How was it?" 

"Like most of the rest of Boston, it made me think that it probably wasn't worth all the massacres, internment and disease inflicted on my people."

Bianca rolls her eyes at Trixie, "Calm down, Pocahontas."

Trixie ignores her, "I was thinking that if our weekend in Philly goes well, I might suggest we do a little trip to Salem. WASPy girls love witches don't they? Gives them a chance to feel persecuted."

Bianca laughs, shaking her head.

"I thought she was Russian?"

"What have Russians got to complain about?" 

"Oh my God, Trixie. We need to get you a buzzer to tell you when to shut your mouth. Read a fucking history book; Stalin killed more of his own people than Hitler."

"Did 95% of the Russian population die of fucking flu and smallpox?" Trixie knows she's being inappropriate, but can't resist twisting to turn her shoulder towards the camera lens and grinning. Bianca covers her face with her hands. 

"Talking about her heritage, have you googled her surname? Her parents are fucking Harvard professors."

Bianca whistles, "That's money." 

"I know, right! I bet she learnt yoga in Cambodia or something like that. I keep on wanting to tease her about it, but she clams up a bit when I mention her family."

"Why is it only ever rich bitches that seem to need to travel to exotic places to find themselves? Can you imagine some Cambodian kid being like 'Mom, dad, I'm off to Wisconsin to find out who I really am.'" 

Trixie giggles at Bianca's joke, and then feels a roiling sensation in the pit of her stomach. She probably wouldn't have laughed at that if Katya had been there. This is a new sensation for her and she doesn't know quite what to do with it. 

There's an awkward pause, before Bianca asks, "What's her sign then?" 

Trixie wrinkles her nose like she's forgot and counts to three before she answers, "She's a Taurus."

"Oh, like Gia. I've forgotten what that means." 

"Stubborn, practical, sensual."

"Is she?"

Trixie's head is flooded with images of Katya. Katya stomping them towards a dark Walgreens because she refuses to believe Google when it says the store shuts at six. Katya patiently using tweezers to pull out a big wad of blonde hair from Trixie's bathtub drain, while Trixie pretended to retch behind her. 

Thinking about the tub reminds Trixie of Katya insisting that she and Trixie take a bath together. Katya had laid on top of Trixie, writhing over her so that their slippery breasts slid against each other. The belly-deep groan that Katya had made had given Trixie full body goosebumps, despite the heat of the water. 

Trixie doesn't realise how long she must have trailed off for until Bianca coughs. 

"Well, I know what your answer to the third part of that will be. Get a grip before you need to wash those seat cushion covers. The sex may be good but she's still knocking 40 with no retirement plan."

“I know, I know. I don't think you can have two self-employed people in a relationship in the long term. I was thinking I might see if that lecturing position is open again, or if Boston has something similar.”

"Trix, you are the least patient person I know. I'd make a better teacher than you."

"I could get a job as a technician and just stay in the one theatre."

"You'd hate not having creative control. You'd Trixie Mattel the shit out of every design and no one would ever work with you again."

"Katya and I could set up a handy woman business,"

Bianca grimaces in horror. 

"Well this has been a fascinating conversation that has definitely passed the Bechdel test with flying colours," Bianca purses her lips and widens her eyes at Trixie.

"Do something more fun than sewing the same dress in fifty different fabrics and I'll let you talk about yourself. I can't help that my life is so legendary and iconic."

Bianca is driving through an extremely familiar neighbourhood now, Trixie brings the screen closer to her face so she can squint at the little changes she can see.

"There's a Danish bakery! What the fuck?" 

"I know, we're going up in the world! Kim and I run in there all the time."

At the mention of Kim, Trixie's chest tightens. Bianca is pulling over her car outside their old home. 

"I need to come home and see you both before Thanksgiving."

"Yes, you do. Make sure you bring Rebound with you."

Trixie throws Bianca the finger and hangs up. Seconds later, her phone lights up again. 

Bianca: I'M SERIOUS, IT WOULD BE GREAT TO MEET KATYA.

Trixie thumbs over the screen, "Love you, thanks for listening xx"

Trixie goes back to browsing Barbies. She texts Katya a link to the Autumn in Paris doll, telling her to check out the hoops and the lace up boots. Twenty minutes later a screenshot of Trixie's last message appears on Bianca's Instagram with the caption, "NOT SUCH A HATEFUL CUNT " and a line of crying laughing faces.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is reference to self harm, substance misuse and sexual violence in this chapter. There is also a lot of suicidal ideation at the beginning of the chapter, including reference to specific methods. Please don't read it if you're not sure if you're up for that.

The hotel bed is massive. When Katya kicks her legs, she finds that the sheets are still tucked firmly under the mattress despite the way that Trixie had pulled at them last night. Trixie's gone, but has left a note on her pillow.

_"K, If you miss the breakfast buffet, 'treat yo self' to brunch. Our company account code is 0144. I won't tell! Trix"_

Katya orders huevos rancheros from the room service menu, and eats them in bed. She feels blessed when she gets neither the runny egg yolk or the spicy tomato sauce on the stark white sheets.

She flicks on the drip coffee machine and takes the sort of long shower she would never have allowed herself to have at home. She rinses her hair twice, uses both Trixie's gentle cleansing milk and her rough exfoliant, and turns her back pink with the heat of the water. She wraps her hair in a turban and gets back to bed to keep her joints warm, tucking herself in like a burrito.

It's the first time she's stayed overnight outside Massachusetts for nine years.

When there's a knock on the door, Katya gets out of bed and swaddles herself in the complimentary dressing gown instead. Katya makes small talk with the housekeeper, and gives her a few dollar bills. She pulls on her running leggings and Trixie's old college sweater, and heads out into the street. She slips through the foyer, nods to the doorman and feels a bit like a fraud. She only lets herself feel it for a few seconds, before she imagines Trixie telling her off for saying it.

Philadelphia doesn't feel that too different from Boston. She likes the accent; in the morning she'd practiced saying water as _wooder_ in the shower. Katya keeps spotting Philadelphia Phillies shirts and feels an atavistic revulsion before remembering that she doesn't give a shit about baseball.

Her feet pound the sidewalk as she runs faster and faster. She doesn't know where she's going but she has a vague intention of making it all the way to Chinatown, if she can.

With her hair bouncing in a loose ponytail, she feels free. The Fall air is chapping her cheeks and drying her eyes as she runs, but she feels like she could take off and fly at any moment. Katya stops at a news stand and plucks three postcards at random, handing over another $3 for a pen with a little figurine of William Penn on the clip. It has 'Penn's Pen' on the side and the joke is bad enough that she wants to buy it for Trixie.

She finds a bench to sit and write her cards. She starts with Ginger, she needs to thank her for letting her cancel her classes this weekend. For the last eight years Katya has tried to teach every day. It helps her to have a routine, and to make sure she doesn't spend too much time on her own. As long as she's able to get at least eight or more participants, Ginger doesn't mind what Katya does. She'd stumbled over her words when she'd asked Ginger to move her schedule around, unsure what she was even really asking for. Ginger had looked thrilled at the prospect of Katya being out for the weekend and exclaimed,

"I've been wanting to paint that studio for years but I need a good few hours to ventilate afterwards. Perfect, we'll just put a notice on the website and in the cafe."

It was only after they'd looked at what paint they had left over in the storeroom that Ginger had turned to Katya and said,

"Hold up, where are you off to anyways?"

It takes Katya a few minutes to think of something reasonably appropriate to write for Ginger, and she knows she doesn't even come close to expressing her sentiments.

_Hey Ginge,_

_Enjoying Philly so far, it makes Boston look small and REALLY CLEAN! I'll bring you a cheesesteak hoagie home, you fat slut. Thanks again for everything, I owe you!_

_Katya_

She scribbles out the vertical line of the last exclamation mark, the period confers a bit more gravitas.

She knows what she wants to write Violet, having taken a lot of teasing from her about being ensconced in Trixie's hotel room for her sexual pleasure.

_Vi,_

_I have stopped MID RUN to write this. I've rubbed the card against my leaking pores as proof, have a sniff! I'm so fucking fit and healthy. I've got to keep myself in shape for the marathon of wild, tantric lovemaking I have scheduled with my curvaceous blonde lover tonight._

_Love you, you rotted cunt. Let's have a night in (just us) next week when I'm back._

_Kat_

The last one is the most troublesome for Katya. She takes a deep breath and makes sure her penmanship is strong, clear and upright.

_Dear Mom and Dad,_

_Hope you are doing well. I'm in Philadelphia, as you have probably guessed from the front of the card. I'm with my girlfriend Trixie. We have been seeing each other for about two months now. We are in Philadelphia because she works in theatre and her play is on at the Wilma Theatre. It was previously on at Boston Contemporary but I thought you would be busy. She did Uncle Vanya last year. I'm feeling really good and it would be great to catch up soon._

_Yours,  
Yekatarina. _

She pushes them into the mail box before she can convince herself not to, and then continues with her run. She carries on for blocks and blocks, marveling at Philadelphia's orderly street grid. It's very different from Boston's old and haphazard street layout.

Katya sees a small park with three sets of pull up bars of varying heights. It's a pretty little park, with a bed of flowers on the other side of the railings, and some interesting graffiti.

She takes a few seconds to adjust her grip on the bars, making sure it's both underhand and strong. She contracts all her muscles, feels the strain in her biceps and her laterals. Her chin raises to meet the bar. She holds it and lets herself hang there for a few seconds before letting her arms hang straight, then starting again.

There's a group of young boys on the bench. She can feel their eyes on her. One has his leg propped up nonchalantly on the bench, elbow leaning on his knee. He points at Katya and whispers to the others. Usually she'd just skulk off feeling slightly embarrassed by herself. But today, she's feeling good. They're not threatening, just some young men enjoying the last relatively mild days of Fall before Winter properly closes in.

When she does the chin-ups Trixie's sweater rides up, and she is proud of her muscular stomach. She does another chin up, and raises her legs straight in front of her like she's sitting in mid air. Her hamstrings are shaking, but she uses the last of her strength to launch into a pull over and some glide swings. The boys cheer, she overhears one of them say she's "sickening."

Katya thinks about attempting a back hip circle but it's more challenging to do it on a hard metal bar. She decides to quit while she's ahead, and takes a leap off the bars, giving the boys a short bow like she did when she was a little girl at her first competitions.

She jogs out of the park and makes one more circle of the block, before checking her watch and deciding to run back to the hotel. Trixie's hotel is a business hotel and it's deserted in the middle of the day. Katya does her warming down stretches in the empty lift and stomps down the long corridor, pretending it's a catwalk.

It takes her a few minutes to spot the problem. First, she sorts out her hair. Then she takes a piss, and fires up the coffee maker. Katya flops on the bed, thinks about what she might do with the rest of her day. Last night, Katya had noticed that the coffee table had a big stack of travel guides and she heads over to have a flick through them, see what they have to say about museums in Philly.

That's when she sees it. It's a clear plastic baggie of white powder. She knows exactly at it is, where it came from.

She'd asked Violet for it. It's her insurance policy. Stuck in a different city, in a small hotel room, with the possibility of needing to schmooze with Trixie's associates, Katya needed something to fall back on if she crumbled. She couldn't risk Trixie seeing her panicking again. She knows that in college people used to see through her when she used every day, but she thinks that now just a little bit would mask her anxiety enough to get by. And she feels secure enough in her recovery that one small lapse wouldn't be the end of her streak of sobriety. She suspects she's fooling herself with the last bit, but just knowing it's there makes her feel more in control.

She had reasoned with Violet that it was no different to an ex-smoker buying a packet of smokes for a funeral, or Violet herself packing a lighter for her poetry readings just in case she needed to heat it up and press it against her skin. Violet had made an arrangement with Katya that if she didn't return it in full, Violet would strong arm her back to NA. She doesn't intend to use it, but just having it there is reassuring.

And now it's all fucked.

Everything seems to lurch sideways. Katya tries to get a grip on the bedside table, but fumbles. Trixie's tablet box, their lube, and a handful of assorted jewelry tumbles to the floor. Katya suddenly feels unaccountably hot and her stomach reels like she needs to void everything in it. She stumbles to a window and tries to throw it open to get as much fresh air as possible. It locks after an inch or two, must be new legislation to protect against people like her. Katya doesn't register this at first, pushing at it with all her strength until she finally realises it's not moving.

She tries to calm herself down. She tries to pick up what has fallen on the floor and return it to the nightstand, but the adrenaline is making her fingers big and clumsy. She fumbles and drops several of Trixie's thin, gold rings and then gives up. Katya tries the square breathing she taught Trixie in the taxi. Her breathing starts off ragged, but then she gets it under control until the air left in her stomach bubbles up with a sharp noise she tries to clamp her teeth over. The noise spills out her nose instead.

Her body is still full of adrenaline. She can't keep still. Her legs walk her round and around the tiny room. She swipes the old landline phone onto the floor, picks up the receiver and jams it onto the handset forcefully. Cutting off the buzz of the dial tone with a violent click is addictive, and she only stops when she starts to notice a crack growing in the plastic. She does some squats to burn off her energy. When that doesn't work she rends the thin hotel notebook in two instead.

She doesn't touch the baggie. She doesn’t get close. She leaves it propped on top of the books where Trixie left it.

Katya has never been able to tolerate failure. She has always felt like Indiana Jones outrunning the boulder, sure that her next failure will be the one to crush her entirely. She'd tried to play the part of a responsible, loving, grown-up woman but failed. Trixie will always remember Katya as that nut-job that brought schedule two drugs on their first weekend away together. She can't bear that shame.

She knows Trixie has a leather belt somewhere. In a dream she walks to the bathroom, stares at the shower rail. It's metal, and securely fitted to the wall. She might not be able to bear the shame, but she can't put Trixie, eight years younger, through finding her. She can't put some poor housekeeper on minimum wage through it either.

She thinks about going into the street. Unsure what the plan is, there are cars, bridges, water, tall buildings, pharmacists, dealers. She doesn't want to die where she can't be identified immediately. Ideally she'd be at home in her apartment. She wouldn't want her parents having a phone call asking them to come to Philly to identify her. She has her bank card with her, but photo ID would be better. She thumbs through her wallet. Her BWAC staff card has a photo, snapped by Violet against the wall of her studio. It's in Boston.

She tells herself she can do it the second she gets back to Boston, like an injured fox crawling back in its hole to die. Giving herself permission to want to die helps a bit. She thinks back to the anti-suicide course she did years ago at the centre. Ginger had wanted them all to be trained in case of vulnerable customers. She sometimes uses the principles on herself, pretending she is her own counsellor. First, she listens to her reasons to want to die. She tries to make herself feel understood and respected. She is non-judgemental about her own ambivalence. She let Trixie down, she let herself down, she ruined a good thing. Now, she listens to her reasons for living so she can identify a hook to keep herself safe. She likes her job, she likes the cold weather, and Violet assures Katya that she's not going anywhere even though Katya suspects that being kind to elderly lesbians must be part of Violet's charity work. Finally, there is Trixie. Katya knows she's fucked it up. Katya corrects herself, she suspects that she's fucked it all up. But she feels she owes it to Trixie to try and sort it out before she disappears forever, her short life infinitesimally small in the scope of the universe.

As the printed hand-out had advised, she tries to come up with a safety plan. Usually yoga or being in a crowded space will do the trick, but Katya just feels exhausted. There's a winged armchair in front of the window, and Katya lets herself flop into it. She still feels sick. He legs feel oddly weightless, she feels as though she's on a boat, the floor underneath her is tilting slowly up and down. She identifies these as symptoms of anxiety. She puts "I notice..." in front of her negative thoughts.

"I notice that I am feeling like I would like to jump out of the window."

"I notice that I am thinking that I don't deserve to be loved."

"I notice that I am anxious that the woman I love is going to leave me."

She repeats, "I have a lot of tools in my emotional toolbox, I have a lot of tools in my emotional toolbox," like a mantra until she remembers swinging Trixie's pink toolbox on to the back seat of her car and wants to cry.

It's too cloudy for there to be much of a sunset, and the sky turns a murky mustard before it goes black. Or as black as it ever goes in a city. After a while, Katya checks the time and realises that Trixie's show will be starting now. She gets up for a piss and manages to motivate herself to hit the lamps on.

Over time, Katya's anxiety hardens to anger. She's ready to fight. It's ironic, she thinks, that before Trixie she would never have had the confidence to defend herself like she wants to tonight. Katya stares out into the night.

Katya is roused from her stupor by the beep of the key-card machine outside the door. Trixie walks in, the door bangs against the wall with the force she uses to throw it open. She's six feet of thunder and reproach. She doesn't look at Katya, just flips open her laptop and starts clicking away. Katya hears her mutter something about actors not being on their marks. She types for 30 minutes and Katya turns to rest her forehead on the wing of the chair as her anger grows and grows. Trixie clips her laptop shut. Katya can only see the side of her face, but she looks haughty and disdainful.

"Explain,"

"Why?" Katya's been silent for so long that her voice sounds hoarse and unfamiliar to her own ears.

Trixie snaps her neck around to look at Katya. Her face is a picture of incredulity.

"What do you mean why?" Trixie spits

Katya repeats, "I mean, why should I explain?"

"Because there are illegal," She pauses for effect, " _substances_ in a room rented for me by my employer."

"I didn't leave them on your fucking desk," Katya snaps back, "They were in the bottom of my washbag, in my suitcase."

Trixie flings her hands up, "I wasn't going through your things. I needed a knife; I left my Leatherman in your washbag because I used it last night to cut open our new - "

"I don't care about that," Katya cuts her off.

"What do you care about, Katya? Do you care about being honest?"

Katya flinches. Trixie smiles, flicks her hair over her shoulder.

"Do you care about my career? The one I've been working on since I was 18? I've not had one dime towards college or anything else from my parents since I left home. I've never been out of work since college,"

Katya nods mutely.

"Then why the fuck are you bringing drugs into what is still effectively my workplace?"

Katya shrugs.

"All my colleagues are down the hall, Katya. They have a fucking imprint of my driver's license and my credit card downstairs," Trixie tosses her wallet across the room and it lands at Katya's feet.

"I'm self-employed. It's all word of mouth. If people think I'm a fucking coke head or a crack head or a tweaker or whatever, I'm fucking finished," Her accent gets thicker like it does when she's drunk, and she sneers at Katya.

Trixie stands up, points her finger in Katya's face, "You're embarrassing. You embarrass yourself and you embarrass me."

Every one of Trixie's words is like an arrow. Katya feels like St Sebastian.

"Why would you do this to me?" Trixie's voice is high and nasal, "Was it supposed to be a fun, you know, holiday thing, or is it a problem?"

Katya laughs hollowly, "It's a problem alright."

"A problem, like an addiction problem?" Trixie takes a deep breath, puffs herself up, "I've got a right to know."

"Do you?" Katya's voice is low but it easily carries across the room. It stops Trixie dead in her tracks.

"Well," Trixie blusters, "Of course I have a right to know. I have a right to know who I am starting a relationship with."

"Why? Do you want a print out of all my medical history or just the bits that might be objectionable to you?"

"Well, obviously n-"

Katya cuts Trixie off mid-word, "You know I've got anxiety, but I also have psoriasis. Surprise, bitch! And when I was young I got Henoch-Schonlein purpura. They thought my kidneys might be fucked after that but they seem to work okay. I broke a finger in High School playing basketball," Katya holds up her wonky, bumpy index finger and casts around for other ailments to throw at Trixie. While she was talking Katya had propelled herself up and out of her seat with agitation. Now she realises how loud she was shouting, and lets her hands drop to her sides, feeling a bit shaken and ashamed of herself.

"Look," Katya starts again, "If you feel that you have a right to know so that you could choose, what choice would you have made?"

Trixie opens her mouth, frowns, shuts it again.

"Katya, that's not - "

She raises her voice, "What choice would you have made?" Her fragile self-esteem is haemorrhaging. She knows the answer, but she wants to hear it from Trixie's mouth.

Trixie bites the inside of her cheek for a few seconds, "I can't say that dating a drug user would have been my choice."

At least she has the decency to close her eyes as she says it.

"And to help you make that choice, what sources would you have consulted?" Katya wants to trip her up.

"What?"

"Where would you have got that information from? Breaking Bad? Fucking – Faces of Meth posters? Buzzfeed's ' _10 Before And After Drugs Pictures That You Simply Won't Believe_ '?"

Trixie sticks her chin out, "I know about drugs, I'm not as naïve as you think."

"You know Jack shit!" Katya shouts so loud it hurts her throat. She stops and lowers her volume, punctuates her words with her hands, palms up. She really wants Trixie to listen and wants Trixie to know how much she wants her to listen, "I've spent years with other addicts. We're your doctors, professors, the people that mow your lawns. We're strong. So fucking strong. We fight battles that no-one else ever sees," Katya's eyes prickle with tears as she hears the strain in her own voice.

Trixie unfolds her arms and sinks into the other armchair, "So, can you tell me what's going on then?"

Katya wants to tell her to fuck off. She leans forward with her teeth bared and clenched, "Why would I tell you that now, knowing what your choice would have been?"

Trixie bites her lip, "We're here now, it's different. Tell me what's going on, please,"

The last thing she needs is trying to teach yoga to someone who knows about the most difficult parts of her past, as well as what her pussy tastes like. Katya shares a series of short, dispassionate facts. Hopefully Trixie will keep it to herself and then fuck off back to Chicago when her job is done. She doesn't give Trixie the satisfaction of the lurid details, the things that everyone wants to hear. She's a dignified addict.

Trixie tries to listen. She asks questions in a slow, ponderous way like she's winching them up from the bottom of a well. Katya hates it, the speed of her voice is so slow that between each word Katya has time to finish her sentences ten times in increasingly more unpleasant ways. She can't stop wiggling her toes, rubbing her palms over her knees, trying to fill the space before Trixie's next word. She's so close to just clicking her fingers at Trixie, telling her to speed up.

When Katya feels that Trixie has asked enough questions to be satisfied, Katya says what she has been waiting to say, "I really feel that leaving the bag out was cruel, as was not talking to me straight away when you got back from the theatre,"

Trixie flushes red, "I'm sorry. All evening I was trying to work, talking to people, trying to hold it together. I sat there in the dark, trying to tell myself I was going crazy and that it was just left over from a wild girls’ weekend or a weird Russian cure-all. My colleagues were there, I couldn't say why I felt off. I kept on wondering, what else are you hiding from me? What else don't I know that Violet Chachki, fucking 25, fucking knows? I knew there was something you were hiding from me. I know you don't drink but you've never, never mentioned drugs. I should have worked it out,"

Katya hasn't got the energy to respond to any of that. She wants to argue with Trixie about how brilliant Violet has been. She will say it as soon as she feels able to. Katya does feel for Trixie, it must have been hard to worry all evening. But if Katya let herself dwell on all the discomfort her addiction had inflicted on others, she’d just hang herself. In her head she uses Violet's voice to tell herself not to shoulder all the responsibility for everything that everyone else feels.

"I'm sorry that my actions led to you feeling that I didn't respect your work. I do. And I'm sorry that I frightened you," Katya takes a deep breath, "But I'm not sorry for being an addict. It's an illness, not a moral failing. And the actions I took, every single one of them, led to me surviving. Even when sometimes my brain wanted to kill me," she's winded, out of breath.

Fat tears squeeze themselves out of Trixie's eyes and down her red cheeks. Katya wants to hold her, but isn't sure if she is allowed. She looks at Trixie's hands and Trixie's eyes follow hers. She gives a little smile and swings her hand towards Katya. Katya catches it in an instant.

"Maybe I just thought you wouldn't even notice because your people have got substance abuse all sewn up," Katya says slyly. She's not sure how a joke will go down, but it's worth a go.

Trixie digs her nails into the back of Katya's hand, tries to stifle a bunged-up, snotty laugh and then coughs instead, "Shut the fuck up, you pig,"

Katya can hardly bring herself to ask, she feels so nauseous. "It's late now, but I can check into another room tomorrow, or ask Ginger to try and sort something out. Whatever you think is best." She tries to make herself sound cool and business-like, but she can't disguise the slight wobble in her voice.

"That's not necessary, Katya. Stay with me," Trixie gives Katya's hand a little squeeze, "But when we get back to Boston, we should talk about what you need. I mean, I could loan you money if you need to go somewhere or talk to someone."

"If you want to solve something I'll buy you a Rubik's cube," Katya jumps in fast, but then makes herself slow down, "I just want to go back to this morning," Katya feels wrung out, like she's done her hardest day of teaching followed by walking home in a snowstorm.

That seems to start Trixie's tears off again, "I wish we could just go back to this morning too. I wanted everything to be perfect, but now -" Katya cuts her off, she can't bear it, "Can we just go out and get some fresh air?"

Trixie nods, seemingly bolstered by having something to focus on, "Let me just get washed up and changed and we'll go out for a bit."

Katya gathers up her pile of tissues and throws them into the small bathroom bin,

"In college I would have saved them and made them into some sort of art piece."

"Yes, well, white people will buy anything," Trixie says waspishly.

Earlier Katya had felt so resolute. She had wanted to show Trixie that the situation was nowhere near as sordid as she had imagined. But now she is just so bone tired. She feels soft and vulnerable, a whelk with its shell pulled off. It would be so easy to take a dab and rub it on her gums, just enough to help her feel normal, to allow her to help Trixie forget all this with laughter and dancing and hard, fast, fucking. Addiction makes a liar of you, she's used to it. But Katya reminds herself of the dread she felt when she thought it was all over. She thinks of everything she's done differently since Trixie has been part of her life, how her world has opened up. She shoves the speed to the bottom of her washbag and changes her clothes.

Usually when they walk together, Trixie puts her fingers in the crook of Katya's elbow and wraps her thumb around Katya's firm bicep.

Today, Trixie puts her arm around Katya's back like she's her little lady. She's got her fingers curled up against Katya's waist and every few steps she lightly digs them into Katya's soft side like she's trying to make a baby laugh. Trixie holds her other hand across her own body for Katya's hand to hold. Trixie gives her hand a squeeze every time they come across a dip in the sidewalk or a crossing. Katya hates it, but tolerates it like she tolerates her mother calling her Yekaterina.

After a few blocks Trixie squeezes Katya's hand, "Can you hear live music?"

Katya concentrates, and she can hear trumpets and a drum from down a side street. They turn a corner, Katya sees an open doorway where orange light spills out onto the sidewalk. It's a cold evening but inside the patrons have shrugged off their sweaters and jackets. People are dancing closely, rolling their hips together, and several couples have tangled their hands in each other's hair. Trixie seems transfixed. "Oh, can we go in here?" she breathes.

There's a live band at the back of the bar on a small stage. Just a couple of drums, trumpets and one guy on the maracas. They're all grisly old guys wearing white, wide brimmed fedoras, and they play with such enthusiasm that it lifts Katya's heart a bit.

"Have you danced salsa before? I've only done a little bit when I was in the chorus of _West Side Story_ at college,"

Katya hasn't, and she lets Trixie lead her. Trixie's a good little teacher, she clasps one of Katya's hands and tucks her elbow under the other. She grins at Katya when she copies the movement of Trixie's hips and the steps she takes from side to side. Trixie leaves enough space between them that she can bend her head to look at Katya's feet. She squeezes Katya's hand to remind her not to move on the fourth beat. Soon enough, Katya feels confident enough to mirror Trixie's footwork and takes little steps forward and back. She starts to enjoy, swinging her hips with more force and moving their bodies closer together.

Katya watches another couple near them until she's able to twirl Trixie under her arm. Trixie bends her head and shoulders so she can fit under Katya's arm, shrieks as Katya twirls her once, then twice, then tips Trixie back. Katya pulls her in for a quick kiss. Trixie shouts into Katya's ear, "Dancing always makes me forget whatever I'm worrying about!"

Katya knows enough of what Trixie looks like when she's relaxed to know that she's lying, but she appreciates the effort. She keeps thinking of Violet, reluctantly handing over her drugs to Katya. She'd told Katya she thought it was a stupid idea. She'd told Katya that she should just speak to Trixie about feeling anxious and tell her that she's working on her sobriety, doing the best she can. She wishes she'd taken that advice, she wishes she could go back to her own apartment and speak to Trixie there. Maybe she would have laid out some of her old sketchbooks, showed her some of her creased and bookmarked books about addiction.

Trixie fetches them some virgin mojitos and pulls out the umbrellas to poke into Katya's hair. Katya would usually love it, but tonight she plucks them back out and puts them back in their glasses. They rest against a pillar, and Trixie wraps her hands around Katya's hips, tries to keep them swaying to the beat as they take long pulls from their straws.

Katya looks at the three framed photographs of Fidel Castro hung over the bar. She remembers long arguments with her dad over the dinner table about him. She wonders how many of these kids would be able to tell her anything about him.

"Trixie, what do you think of Castro?"

"Isn't that Che Guevara? No? Oh, um. Yeah, the Missile Crisis, that was him. He was a dictator, wasn't he?"

"Depends on who you ask, I guess," says Katya vaguely, "I'm going for a smoke."

Trixie grabs her purse, "Oh, I'll come too!" She smiles brightly at Katya. Trixie stays inside when Katya goes to smoke, but tonight Katya could do with a short break from her determined cheerfulness.

In the smoking area Katya finds a bench, Trixie immediately sits on Katya and starts playing with her hair. Katya thinks about how stupid it is that they are able to sit on this particular bench because they've paid for a drink, but the panhandlers outside the small fenced off area aren't entitled to join them.

"My dad would agree with you," she says.

"Huh?"

"My dad thinks that one party states are inherently undemocratic, and that grassroots democracies are sham. A sham and a scam!"

"Cuba, right. Yeah, I'd love to drive one of those old cars,"

"I always used point out that Cuba had more doctors and nurses than lots of developed countries,"

"What did your dad say?"

"Probably something like, 'Only because we', meaning Russia, 'are paying for them'"

Trixie huffs a little laugh, and goes back to playing with Katya's hair.

"Did anyone ever think your parents were spies?"

"Well, yes. Did anyone ever think your family ran a dairy farm?"

"When I was in college, yeah."

Katya takes a deep drag of her cigarette, "They must be so disappointed in me,"

"I can't imagine that that's true," Trixie's got that look she gets late at night when she's gentle, yet sure of herself. "You work hard, you try and take care of yourself. You care about people and you think deeply about things."

Katya stands up so abruptly Trixie almost falls from her lap.

"Let's go back in," she throws her half-smoked cigarette on the floor,

"You usually save those," Trixie points out. Katya just shrugs. Her hands feel fluttery, she can't concentrate on anything.

"Actually, can we? Can we just go back to the hotel?"

Trixie nods and helps Katya pick her way through the groups of people in the smokers' area. The crowd inside is even more jarring, the band louder and more frantic. The smell of the drink and the sweat is too much and Katya squeezes her eyes closed, letting Trixie lead her by the hand through the dancers in the bar. She's never been so grateful to be walking in the wake of her tall, broad woman.

The street outside is quiet but there is still a cacophony of voices in Katya's mind telling her she's useless. She tries to walk straight but her knees are weak and before she knows it she's sinking on to a nearby bench, Trixie's hands under her armpits.

"I love you, you know,"

Katya looks at Trixie, she's not quite taking it in. Trixie's sat sideways on the bench, legs crossed and head resting on the wooden slats. Her hands twist her long hair into a fat rope.  
"I do," Trixie says, squeezing Katya's knee. "I've known for ages," she continues, "I was going to save it for some romantic occasion. Or, let's be honest, it was nice to know that I had it in my back pocket as a bit of a trump card to win an argument," Trixie holds her hand up to stop Katya interrupting, "Which, by the way, is not what this is. Anyway, I love you. I thought you ought to know."

Katya stares at the sidewalk until she starts seeing patterns in the stains and the cracks. They squirm around, make her feel even dizzier.

"You're not on your own now, Katya. I may not have planned to start a relationship with a, with a -"

"Someone experiencing addiction?" Katya supplies.

"I was going to go with ancient junkie, but that will do," Trixie winks at Katya, starts again, "We're here now, and I'm glad that we are. I was scared and hurt earlier. But I want you to know that whatever happens next, I'm here with you."

Katya knows what the script is, but she's not going to say her lines. Partly because she feels sick with anxiety, and partly because she is waiting for some display of petulance from Trixie. It doesn't come, and Katya is gently surprised and pleased. Trixie sits with her and rubs her knee until Katya feels able to walk again. They walk back to the hotel in silence.

"Stairs or elevator?" Katya still feels dizzy. She reasons that the risk of falling down the stairs is higher than the walls of the elevator slowly closing in on her, and Trixie calls the elevator for them.

The hotel lift is mirrored on all four walls. There's no where she can look and not see a reflection of herself or Trixie. Trixie looks awful in the blue-toned light. Her eyes are puffy and red-rimmed and hair is getting flat with grease. She's biting her lip and looking at her feet. Katya yearns to just lean across and kiss her. Katya won't look at herself. She closes her eyes and feels herself float through space as the lift moves upwards. Trixie's hand encloses hers. She slows her breathing, focuses all her consciousness on her left hand and the hand holding it.

"I love you," Katya murmurs into the elevator, and hears Trixie's breath hitch. Katya can't open her eyes.

"Katya, you don't need to say that," Trixie's voice is resolute.

Katya knows that Trixie has never said anything like this before, she would usually expect full and immediate reciprocation. If there was a gallery of Trixie's first 'I love you's, Katya would expect to see a few restaurants, a beach or two, a forest. She expects she is the only one not to say it back immediately, the only one who said it whilst crying in an elevator.

"No I do," Katya insists. "I -" The lift stops and the doors open with a cheerful bell sound.

Trixie pulls Katya out of the lift forcefully. For a second Katya thinks she might hit her, but then she grabs Katya and pulls her to her chest. Trixie's teeth clack against Katya's as Trixie roughly takes her mouth. Trixie kisses and kisses Katya until she feels light headed, until she's whimpering into Trixie's mouth and her knees sag, purse dropping to the floor.

They somehow stumble into the room, and the sight of the hotel room sobers Katya up. She thinks about suggesting they flick the coffee machine on, but Trixie's already unclasping her bra and tossing the outsized throw pillows onto the floor. Blood starts flowing to Katya’s cunt at the sight of her. Fucking might not fix things, but at least they've always been good at it together. 

"I honestly don't think I could manage sex tonight" Trixie says. 

"Okay," Katya says, perpetually on the back foot.

"But I think we should have a question amnesty. At the beginning I was always rushing around," Trixie is throwing back the covers while Katya hovers in the doorway, "And when I was with you we just wanted to fuck and make stupid jokes. I think we missed talking about a lot of things. We used to do this in high school, we’d sit it in a circle and call it ‘airing our grievances.‘ Come on, you first."

Katya clambers into the hotel bed, firmer and higher than her bed at home. She can't think of anything. Trixie turns out the light and rolls to face Katya. She can just make out the gleam of Trixie's eyes. She thinks of the things that she wants to know: What does Trixie think happens after we die? Does she have any reoccurring dreams? What’s her favourite breed of dog? What procedures has she had on her teeth? Katya is not sure what the rules are.

"Fine, I'll go first," Trixie says, "Are you truly a gold star?"

Katya answers, "That's biphobic, I'm not answering that."

Trixie rolls her eyes, "How did you know you were gay, then?"

"We were all in San Francisco for a family holiday, I think I was about eleven or twelve. We were in Castro," Trixie shuffles closer, "And mom and dad told us all not to stare at any same sex couples holding hands as it might offend them." Trixie snorts. "Anyway, I was sick and we stopped for a drink and mom got me soup. This waitress came over and she was just gorgeous, you know. She put it in front of me and said, 'Oh, your Pop told me you were sick,' and put her hand on my forehead to see if I was running a temperature. And I just remember this moment of connection, of realisation. It's hard not to frame it like an adult would frame it. But I think I knew then," Katya finishes. 

Trixie's quiet for a few moments, waiting for Katya to come up with a question. She gives up and asks, "What's the best thing about drugs?"

"Why? You want to pick up a habit?"

"I want to understand why someone who had so many opportunities would be so self-destructive."

Katya laughs humourlessly, a "huh-huh" sound into the dark. "It gave me the ability to speak to people, to create things to a deadline. It gave me a level playing field."

"Right, your turn."

Katya asks, "When you joke about the things you joke about, you're not really joking. Are you?"

"No, I'm not joking," Trixie says firmly. 

Katya takes Trixie's hand. They lay flat on their backs, linked hands in between them. Katya feels like they must look like two otters in a river, or else two stone effigies on a tomb.

"I always felt guilty for not, you know..." Trixie trails off, "But what you said earlier about survival, that was interesting."

Katya turns to look at Trixie. Her eyes are fixed on the ceiling, her chin proud.

"I knew before," Trixie continues. Her voice is quiet and hesitant.

"Knew what?"

"I knew I was gay before."

"Right," Katya isn't sure what she should say.

"Other women I've been with liked to know. They liked to make sure that he wasn't the reason why."

Katya shrugs, "None of that affects anything for me. It's unrelevant - irrelevant, even."

"So," Trixie coughs to clear her throat, "Why did you give up gymnastics?"

"I kept on sicking up whenever the judges were deliberating their scores."

"All down your sparkly leotard?"

"All down my sparkly leotard. A little puddle at my feet on the podium. Having to hold my flowers in front of the stain for the photographs." It's only partly true, but her embellishments make Trixie grin and that makes it good enough.

"Would you ever want to get married?" It's a ridiculous question for Katya to ask, but it's the first cheerful thing she thinks of.

"I will admit that when I'm hormonal I do cry at lesbian wedding blogs, but I don't think it's really for me. Watching my mom fuck it up twice was enough. You?"

Katya shakes her head wildly on the pillow, "No, no. God, imagine the speeches. What about children?"

Trixie makes a prevaricating noise, "Do I love them? Yes. Do I want to change my lifestyle to accommodate them? No. If I had one I'd probably just sleep outside their bedroom with a shotgun until they were eighteen."

"I think my ovarian ship has sailed, but I can’t wait for my sisters to start having kids. Why did Pearl leave you?"

Katya can feel Trixie cringing down into the mattress. "The usual. Too much time away with work."

She wants to tell Trixie that no amount of travel will make Katya leave her, but this isn't the time to mollify her with statements she can't hope to guarantee. She tries to say something true instead.

"I really respect that you put so much into your work. It's sexy."

Trixie drops a quick kiss on her shoulder, then asks, "How many years of tax returns do you have?"

Katya boggles. She has a bag of paperwork under her desk that Ginger helps her sort out from time to time. She tries to think of something Suze Orman might say, "Um, well...."

"Katya, please tell me you don't work under the table, do you?"

"Why do you even need to know?"

"As a self-employed person you typically need around five years of proof of income to get a mortgage. I'm up to four, I was just curious about you."

"I'll check when I get home,” She nods with a decisiveness she doesn’t feel. "Why did you change your name?"

Trixie stumbles a bit, "How did you know?"

"You're not the only one that can use Google. I know full well I never told you that my parents were professors!"

Trixie laughs, "I could have figured it out! I'm smart! It's boring really. My mom made us all change our surname to our step-dad's, and then when I graduated I wanted to change it back. Then I thought about Roberts, obviously. Then Bianca pointed out that Mattel would be more original for getting business cards printed, that sort of thing. Told you it was dull."

Katya doesn't think it sounds dull, but knows she's being told to drop it.

"Where would you go, if you could go anywhere?"

"France, definitely. My French is still decent, the pastries are mind-blowing, I want to go back to the Louvre as an adult."

Trixie yawns, curls her body into Katya's. She makes a noise like she wants Katya to carry on, and so Katya keeps listing the things she likes about France until Trixie's head gets heavy.

"We should," Trixie's voice is slow and dreamy, "We should go to the art museum tomorrow, it's apparently really good. I'm not in work until five."

Katya looks at the digital clock next to the bed. The green neon numbers read 03:00. Katya doubts Trixie will be awake much before mid-day, but the thought of going to the museum with Trixie is enough to make her smile softly to herself as she rolls Trixie over to press her own smaller body against Trixie's back.

The Philadelphia Museum of Art is an imposing Neo-Classical building with tall colonnades bearing down from all sides. Small, square windows near the roof warm the pale stone with golden light. Katya stands at the bottom of the wide central staircase, gazing up at the heavy bronze sculpture at the top of the first set of steps. She feels a bit sluggish, hungover from the anxiety. She tries to shake it off.

"Is that Eros or Diana, or what?"

"Eh?" Trixie is messily unfolding the museum map, trying to find where Sunflowers is located in the maze of galleries.

Trixie has a scattergun approach to visiting the museum, criss-crossing through different rooms. She wants to do the big-names first. Katya tries to guide her to works with an interesting use of light, she likes Cezanne's _Large Bathers_ and Dali's _The Basket of Bread._

Trixie stands in front of Picasso's _Three Musicians,_ "It's like, I like it, but I don't know if I actually get it."

Katya tries to explain why it resonates with her, gesturing with her fingers. Trixie listens like she's ticking things off a list, giving sharp nods after every point Katya makes.

"Is there anything else you particularly want to see? Trixie strokes the soft arm of Katya's coat, wriggles her fingers into the pockets.

"I think they have some Berenice Abbott photographs here. Most of them are in New York, MIT did an exhibition that I went to, but I think I read something about having some of her photographs here."

As it turns out, it really is just a couple of photographs; a portrait of James Joyce and a shot of a Kosher butcher in New York. Katya's fascinated by the crudely painted ducks and chickens on the window, and the butcher eyeing the photographer warily through the glass.

Trixie glances at it once and then goes back to reading the guide. She is more interested in the background information Katya gives her about Abbott's lesbianism, about her leaving the family home early to study, then her working in New York, Chicago and Paris. Katya isn't sure how she can remember all that, when most days she struggles to remember mundane things. Trixie's frowns slightly as she listens seriously, and it encourages Katya to go on even when she fears she's boring her. She feels taller under Trixie's thoughtful consideration.

"We'll have to go and see more of her work when we're next in New York," says Trixie, tapping Abbott's name into the Notes in her phone. Katya allows herself a small smile at that. Perhaps a trip from Boston to New York is not so outlandish.

"Are you still going to Chicago before the holidays?"

Katya's still aware of how much Trixie misses her friends. She knows how much time Trixie spends with her phone broadcasting live footage from her old apartment, with Bianca and Kim chatting quietly to Trixie as they sew and Trixie works on her laptop or fiddles with her guitar.

Trixie sighs, "Definitely not before Thanksgiving, probably not until the New Year. What are you doing for the holidays?"

"I don't really do Thanksgiving or Colombus Day, for obvious reasons."

Trixie rolls her eyes and pretends to swoon, "Thanks for your noble sacrifice."

Katya elbows her gently and continues, "My parents do Russian Christmas in January but Ginger shuts the Centre so she can go to Florida with the wife, so I can't work over American Christmas either. Sometimes I'll watch _Gone With The Wind_ with Violet; she likes the dresses and she thinks she's Scarlett. My, er, old support group do a Christmas meeting in case anyone is struggling. It's in that old Church by the subway stop. Christmas isn't much of a pressure point for me. That's why I go, it's useful to have some people with some extra capacity to listen."

Trixie nods, "You're a good soul. Come on, let's get some food before I need to head to the theatre."

In the gift-shop Katya happily spends $5 on a magnet of Duchamp's _Fountain_ for Trixie, to repay her for the one she got Katya from The Met. If there's anyone else that would share her glee at a small, magnetic picture of a urinal to stick on a refrigerator, it's Trixie.

Before they leave they take a last trip to the restroom. After they've washed their hands and piled on all of their outerwear again, Katya takes a look in the beautiful floor-length mirror. They look good together.

Trixie is wearing a pastel pink coat with a flared skirt. She's belted the waist tightly, and the skirt falls just above the knee. She's doubled a scarf around her neck and her curls are bunched up, resting on the fabric. The scarf has worn the foundation off on her jaw and chin. Her lips are painted a soft, blue-toned pink, her cupid's bow carefully outlined and highlighted.

Katya's coat is made of an elegant, grey wool felt, with a funnel neck and a cocoon silhouette. It has contrasting stitching on the hems and sweet little buttons. Katya's mom had bought her the coat for Christmas two years ago. It had made Katya's heart hurt a bit. She knew her parents liked to get her an assortment of dried and canned food, warm clothes and basic toiletries as gifts, as they couldn't always guarantee she would take care of herself. She intuited that her mother had chosen this coat thinking about the daughter she had expected to have. It's stylish and mature and Katya knows her mother spent a lot on it. It's never been worn before. With her coat she wears her brown, battered 20-hole Docs and a thin red scarf. She can't believe she feels good about herself after yesterday, but she does.

Trixie looks even taller and extremely curvaceous in comparison to Katya, whose face is peeking out comically from the top of the stiff collar. Trixie's looking at the mirror too, smiling at what she sees. She takes Katya's hand in hers, stoops down for a little kiss.

Katya slips her phone out of her pocket, "Can I have another small kiss please?"

She holds the phone at a diagonal and manages to get them both in the frame, Katya stretching up to meet Trixie and Trixie softly puckering her lips.

She takes another, holding the phone with her index fingers and thumbs in front of her chest. Trixie stands half behind Katya, hand on Katya's side. Trixie's eyes lock directly on to the camera through the mirror, and a smile tugs at the corner of her lips.

Katya pinches the screen to get a better look at her face. She looks slightly plumper than she used to, her hair looks glossy and well maintained.

She opens up the option to 'Share' and selects her mom's email address.

_"Hey Mom. Did you get my card? I sent it yesterday. Here are Trixie and I in the Philadelphia Art Museum. Do you remember how much I liked Nude Descending A Staircase when you took us all here when we were small? I'd forgotten, but now I remember trying to make a copy of it in the car on the way home. If you haven't got my card yet, this will make more sense when it arrives. Yours, Yekatarina."_

Trixie reads over Katya's shoulder, drops a small kiss on her hair.

As they walk out of the museum and down the steps Trixie turns to Katya and says, "I've pretended to be arty for a whole day, now will you please sing the _Rocky_ theme as I run up these steps?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to include Nude Descending a Staircase, as it's one of my favourite bits of my favourite poem, Having A Coke With You, by Frank O'Hara.
> 
> Thank you to my lovely friend from Philly who answered all my weird questions without once asking me what I was doing with the information. 
> 
> I like to write about people trying their best. 
> 
> Next & final chapter should be up soon, it was this one that was slowing me down.


	17. Chapter 17

Trixie helps the theatre crew pack up the van, then makes her way back to the hotel to pick up Katya in her car. Katya has cleared out their room and carefully folded a tip under the coffee tray, and Trixie is grateful for her good sense in falling in love with the sort of woman that tidies the room before the Housekeeper comes, and knows how to treat people. 

Katya is sat at the end of the bed, sketching the doorway to the bathroom. It's a standard issue hotel door, but Katya seems to be interested in the shadow that the shower rail casts on the floor. Katya looks gorgeous. She has told Trixie that she doesn't like her profile, with her strong, pointed nose and widow's peak. Trixie likes it though, and she likes the way that Katya flings one muscular leg over the other, pointing her toes.

"Your drawing is beautiful,"

Katya startles when Trixie speaks, and then laughs at herself had enough to shake the bed. 

"We should get going," Trixie says, "It's just gone two. It's about a five hour drive, we can pull off for food if you want." 

They split the bags equally between them, before Trixie takes control of loading the car and Katya has her last cigarette. Katya slots Peaches into Trixie's CD player, squeezes Trixie's thigh as she starts the ignition. 

The sun sets as Trixie drives. Katya spends most of the drive taking pictures out of the window. Most of them look blurry to Trixie but Katya says they're atmospheric. Trixie wants to pull off the road and kiss her.

Trixie drops Katya off at her apartment, helps her up the metal steps to the front door of her apartment. 

"It seems inconvenient for you to drive back across Boston now. Do you want to stay tonight and get take-out?"

Trixie freezes in the doorway. She likes Katya's apartment. It's cosy and messy and interesting. The sofa reminds her of crashing out drunk that first time. The bed reminds her of coming harder than she has with anyone else before. The kitchen reminds her of plating take-out for them both, cracking open a bottle of Coors for herself, and fancy Italian pop for Katya. 

Suddenly it feels much less welcoming, much more Little Shop of Horrors. She imagines the scene unfolding, Katya snorting off the coffee table, stumbling across to the couch, t-shirt slipping down on one shoulder. She imagines the nubs of Katya's spine showing through her skin as she shivers and shakes. She pushes the thoughts away, Katya would hate to know she'd imagined such gratuitously voyeuristic scenes. 

Katya rubs her hand around Trixie's waist. Her fingers are firm and capable and bring her back to the present. 

"I've never used drugs in this apartment, and I've been better at asking for help since I've lived here. This has always been a good place for me."

Katya's face is lit by the cheap electric light. She looks tired, but so beautiful. Her sharp cheekbones, her full mouth. Those green eyes. Trixie aches for her. 

Katya folds her hand over Trixie's shoulder, "I love you. Let's go to bed."

Katya is solemn as she takes Trixie's hand and leads her to the bedroom. They sit on the bed and kiss like shy teenagers. It takes a long time for the warmth in Trixie's stomach to bloom. She tries to stop her thoughts by concentrating on each sensation individually. Katya's eyelashes are tickling her cheek. Underneath her hand, the mattress is sagging. Katya's pointy nose is pressing into hers. She can smell perfume and hairspray and old sweat on Katya's sheets. The room is cold, a draught is coming from under the door. Katya's hand is gripping the bottom of her hair, wrapping it around her hand. 

Katya's fist is twisting to wrap another loop of Trixie's long hair around it, she can feel it faintly in her scalp. Katya's fist is twisting again, and now each hair on Trixie's scalp is a tiny pin prick of pain. Katya's fist is twisting again, and Trixie actually cries out into her mouth this time. She feels Katya's lips turn up against her own. Suddenly, the warmth in her stomach arrives full force, and she squirms on the bed, pressing her thighs together. 

Katya bends over Trixie, roughly pulling her left breast out of her top and sucking strongly on her nipple. They won't both fit through the neckline of her top, and she doesn't want Katya to try and stretch the cotton so she slaps her hand away and strips her own top off quickly. Katya's predictably on her in seconds, scooping them out the soft, non-wired bra she wears for travelling. 

Katya pushes Trixie's breasts together, gives toothy kisses all down her cleavage. When she lets them fall apart there are two red half moons on each breast. Katya likes to push her tongue down Trixie's cleavage, pointing and wriggling it to try and get deep enough to lick the pale skin between her breasts. She laves big, sloppy circles around Trixie's nipples and makes content sounds as they harden in her mouth.

Trixie thinks she's ridiculous. She's had many lovers that were a bit overawed by her breasts, but the sheer, childish joy that Katya takes in them surprises her every time. When Katya burrows underneath them and lets them sit on her face for a moment, it feels nice enough. But when Katya rubs her tongue across her nipple like that, it goes straight to her cunt. Within minutes she's shuddering, holding Katya firmly by the back of the neck so she can't move.

Trixie thinks she might give Katya a little show tonight. She whispers to Katya to get the rest of her clothes off, and efficiently strips off the rest of hers too. She knows where Katya keeps everything now, and she pulls out Katya's strap on from her drawer, tosses it to Katya on the bed while she goes to freshen up. 

Katya has piled all of her pillows behind her and is reclining, the silicone standing up from between her legs. She's pulled the webbing straps so tight that there are little bulges of skin where they criss-cross her soft hips. 

Trixie kneels on the bed, starts to swing her leg over Katya.

"Can I - I want to lick you first."

Trixie smirks, walks up the bed on her knees. Katya slides down the pillows to meet Trixie. Trixie widens her knees further so Katya doesn't have to crane her neck up into Trixie. She worries for a second that her one longer labia might flop down into Katya's mouth, but the worry disappears when Katya kisses it and then laps over her clit. Katya keeps her tongue soft and wide, licks stripes up Trixie's vulva again and again until her knees give out, sliding down further and further onto Katya's face until Katya splutters a laugh up into her and puts her hands under Trixie's thighs to keep her up. 

Trixie begins to shift her hips back and forth over Katya's face, feeling the bump of Katya's nose and the rumble of her moan as Trixie moves. The warm flooding sensation is building, pooling in her thighs. She starts to get that pulling sensation inside her that reminds her of how empty she is. She clenches down on nothing to try and relieve it. It makes it worse.

She pulls herself up and off Katya. Katya's face is wet and shining in the glow of the bedside lamp. Katya licks her lips. 

Trixie wanted to be graceful and sensual, but her hands and knees feel shaky as she steadies herself. Her cheeks are feverish. She pants, can't help wanting to stuff herself full of her fingers in the few seconds it takes to flip her legs back over Katya and seat herself. Her muscles tremble and she feels stunningly ungainly. 

She reaches behind herself and lines up the hard, purple silicone where it needs to be. The top is bulbous and stretches her, but the material is so smooth that she knows that as soon as she sits back into it, it will fill her right up. She shields her stomach with her other hand, but Katya pushes it away and grabs Trixie's stomach instead. Her fingers make five deep dents in the flesh. 

Katya's panting at least as hard as Trixie is. Her pupils are blown. "Do it."

Trixie does. 

After the first stretch, the rest sinks into her so quick she stops halfway through an intake of breath, teeth clicking shut. It's longer than any toy she's used before, and there's a sharp pain as it bottoms out. She wriggles a bit, tits moving with her. Katya's hands snap to them automatically, letting them rest in her outstretched palms. 

Trixie leans forward experimentally, the smooth slide of the toy inside her bringing up goose bumps on the tops of her arms. She rocks back, and the sensation of it sinking inside her makes her groan and screw her eyes shut. 

She tries to do it again, but her rhythm is halting and jerky. She moves too fast and winces as it goes too deep again, and then pulls away too far and lets it slip it of her entirely.

She goes to wrap her hand around the dildo and move it back into position, but Katya is already gripping the silicone. She feels a flash of embarrassment as she feels how warm and sticky the synthetic material has gotten already from being inside her body. Katya doesn't seem to mind as she moves it back underneath Trixie. It slips inside her easily and Trixie whimpers.

"There, we got you all filled up again quickly, didn't we?"

Trixie keens. She raises herself up on her haunches and lets herself fall onto it. A sharp burst of pleasure flows through her cunt and through the rest of her body. She wants to properly bounce on Katya. Partly so she can fuck herself as hard as she can to get herself off, and partly because she wants Katya to see her breasts moving as she does. Unfortunately, Katya's bed is too soft for her to really get much of a pace up. Trixie finds a good rhythm anyway. She can't resist arching her back as dramatically as she can, and tilting her head back. She runs her fingers through her hair, flexes her thighs to give herself a succession of shallow little thrusts. She tosses her head from side to side, knowing her hair will be tickling Katya's thighs as she lets out an "Ah - Ah - Ah" every time the toy _thunks_ deep inside her. 

Beneath her, Katya has moved her hands away from Trixie's breasts, balling them at her sides. Her body is taut, her tendons stand out in her neck. Her teeth are bared. Trixie suspects that if she twisted around, Katya's knees would be locked and her toes curled tight.

Trixie reaches out and strokes Katya's jaw as softly as she can. Katya's whole body convulses.

"You okay, baby?"

Katya unclenches her jaw and Trixie can see the effort it takes.

Katya's voice is ragged and breathless, "Yes. Just trying to not flip you over and give you the roughest fucking of your life."

Trixie clenches her pussy hard in response, triggering a cascade of smaller convulsions that have her gasping, struggling for balance on Katya's hips. She feels it all up her tummy, all up her arms, in her shoulders.

She drops forward, lets her chin fall on her chest. She knows she's giving herself a double chin but she doesn't give a shit. Her nostrils are flaring, eyes fluttering. She braces her hands on Katya's sternum, they slide in Katya's sweat. She'd like to play with Katya's nipples, grind her fists into the muscles of Katya's stomach. But she needs to come. She uses all the strength in her arms to shove herself back into the toy, chasing her orgasm. Every time the dildo hits her just right she lets out a deep groan that has Katya groaning too. Caged in by her arms, her cleavage is running with sweat, and Katya's eyes are flick-flicking between her face and her breasts.

Trixie sits up again, lust pooling heavily in the bottom of her spine. She hasn't got the strength to ride Katya now, about all she is capable of is shifting her hips in jagged circles, and clenching herself down as hard as she can around the toy as she rubs her clit. 

"I'm so, ah, close -" she chokes out into the cold air of Katya's attic room.

"Fuck, Trixie, fuck" Katya starts stuttering underneath her. She brings her hands up to Trixie's ass, pulling her down firmly.

"That harness is rubbing right on my clit," Katya laughs, rocking her hips up into it. Trixie's eyes are rolling back in her head. She can't relax her breathing. Each breath catches in her chest, releases in a sharp, pained noise coming from high in her head. She comes suddenly, grunting through her teeth as she grinds her ass down onto Katya with such force that Katya whimpers.

She collapses backwards, the wet silicone slipping out of her as she tumbles onto Katya's legs.

Katya's laughing at Trixie already, "Jesus, you went down like the World - "

"Don't finish that joke, Kat, please." 

"Take this fucking thing off and fuck me," Katya hisses at her.

Trixie does. Her cunt feels delightfully stretched, still pulsing every few seconds. Trixie spreads Katya's legs and a new wave of arousal hits her. She feels her stomach jump. She doesn't think she's ever seen Katya's pussy as swollen as this, her clit red and fat and almost entirely poking out of the hood. Katya is wet down her thighs, the hair on her labia a sticky mess. She ruts against the air, writhing on the bed. 

Trixie starts off by fucking Katya with two fingers. Trixie beckons inside her, and Katya bucks down on her hand, twisting the bed sheets in her hands.

"More, more," Katya sounds vacant, another world away. Trixie has never heard Katya sound quite like that before, either. Trixie adds a third finger, feeling the tough band of muscle stretch around her fingers. Her joints press into each other painfully. Trixie feels almost hypnotised as she squashes her little finger underneath the rest, pushing in the last or two down to her first knuckles. 

Katya's pussy is spread as wide as it can. Trixie knows it must hurt. There is no way she can accommodate the wide span of Trixie's palm, even if Trixie knows it gets much easier when you get down to the wrist and that dreamily full feeling sets in. Trixie tries to squash her fingers closer together but even with lube, her hand is what it is. 

She uses the fingers of her other hand to rub Katya's clit to distract her from the stretch. There's nothing much she can do with the hand mostly inside Katya, just rock it back and forth, try and twitch her fingers upwards in hope of touching the soft spot that makes Katya gasp and buck up.

Katya's clit is so swollen that Trixie moves to rubbing around it with her forefingers, glancing over it with her thumb. Eventually even that makes Katya hiss and yelp, and so Trixie slides down the mattress to lick her instead.

Her elbow is bent at an awkward angle and Katya tastes almost entirely of the metallic tasting lube they've been using. But Trixie loves it. She uses her lips to create as much suction around Katya's engorged clit as she can, keeping her tongue fat and floppy to brush up and down, side to side. She presses her thighs together, the last of the little aftershocks pinging through her thighs. 

Katya brings her legs up around each side of Trixie's face. Her knees are straight and she's pointing her toes like a ballet dancer up into the gloom of the rest of the bedroom.

Trixie reaches underneath Katya's ass, using her thumb to put pressure on Katya's hole. She presses hard enough that it gives way, then pulls back.

Katya is clutching at her own hair, muscles clenched, spewing obscenities until she comes, shaking, against Trixie's face. For a minute, Trixie enjoys the erratic clamping around her hand, totally out of time with the heaving of Katya's chest, before trying to pull out as carefully as she can. Her hand has been squeezed so thoroughly that she has pins and needles in it, and she wiggles her fingers to try and get the feeling back. She cups her damp hand against Katya and her clit is still pulsing, twitching against her palm.

Trixie feels giggly and energetic. She bounces on the bed, flings a leg over Katya. She taunts her in her most obnoxious voice,

"Did you know that when you came you called me both a 'fucking slut' and a 'dirty little cuntlicker?'" Katya hides her face in her hands, but Trixie wrenches them away to see her face. She grins, wide-eyed and elated, into Katya's face. 

"Don't hide your face! I loved it, you fucking pervert." 

She loves Katya's skin, wants to slither all over it.

"Look! Look at my hand," Trixie insists, "I got this far," Trixie points at the little red marks where her knuckles were crushed together.

"Are you proud of me? Are you proud of _you?_ I've never done that with anyone before!" My hands are _huge!_ Did you enjoy it?"

Katya rolls over, catches Trixie's mouth with her own. Katya barely moves her lips, just hums quietly into it. Trixie knows full well that means _leave me alone, I want to sleep now._ But Trixie still feels exhilarated. She forces herself to calm down, regulates her breathing by using Katya's as a guide until she falls asleep. 

In the morning, Trixie feels fresher. The Winter sun is bright, and lights Katya's room in a familiar way. There's Katya's incongruously expensive perfume, her small painted plate with St Basil's Cathedral on it, the vintage leather gloves Trixie hasn't got a hope of getting on her hands. She knows this house, she knows this woman. 

Katya's dancing to something raucous in the kitchen. The music is crashing, but her movements are sinuous and sensual as she holds the handles of her cupboards and writhes, bending her knees and sticking her ass out. 

"This is not a calming way to start the day, Katya!" 

"The day started four hours ago!" Katya cries cheerfully, and kisses Trixie on the cheek.

She continues at ear-piercing volume, "This is Sleater-Kinney, the sound of 1996! It's what you should have been listening to when you were listening to the Spice Girls."

"I'm sorry that the Riot Grrl movement did not penetrate my consciousness when I was a seven year old in rural Wisconsin."

Katya laughs and kisses her other cheek and gestures to a brown paper bag sitting on the side, "I bought us croissants."

"Can I have coffee in my mug? The pink one with the palm trees?"

Trixie had spotted it at the back of Katya's cupboard once when she was looking for a proper wine glass, and she's been using it ever since. 

Katya is teaching most of the day, and Trixie plans to meet her later for gay yoga. Trixie pulls together an olive, apple and couscous salad from the strange contents of Katya's refrigerator and cupboard. She tips it into the only Tupperware with a lid and presses it into Katya's hands. 

They linger at the top of the steps, Trixie finds it hard to pull her lips from Katya. She's covering herself in Katya's red lipstick, she doesn't care. It's a cold East Coast morning, she's only wearing a little satin slip with the batik couch throw looped over her shoulders. If Katya's downstairs neighbours come out and look up they'll have an eyeful. 

She cups the balls of Katya's elbows with her hands, tickles the backs of her biceps. She pops her hip so she can wedge her bent leg between Katya's. Katya laughs, tries to break away. Trixie kisses her big white teeth instead. Katya drops her keys into Trixie's hand, "Can you lock up for me?" 

Trixie doesn't snoop. It's tempting, she knows she could probably find a diary or sketchbook to answer some of the morbid questions that have been forcing themselves into her brain at odd moments. 

Instead, she makes herself a pot of coffee and chooses a couple of books from Katya's haphazard shelves. There's a book of poetry written by people experiencing addiction. It looks well-thumbed. It's clearly a self-published volume, and she scans the contributors list hoping to find Katya. She isn't listed, but Trixie reads a few anyway. Some are far too earnest, some too painful and a lot are just obscure, full of metaphors and allusions that Trixie can't parse. She leaves it on the coffee table. 

Trixie spends the day working on her laptop. Irma's first season as Artistic Director has gone very well, and she's offered her old Chicago creative team to stay with her in Boston and work on her second. Trixie still misses home. She's never worked for one director, one theatre this long before. But she's not done with Boston yet, certainly not done with Katya. It's something new, something Trixie knows that she needs to nurture carefully. She thinks about feeding tired bees, watching their frond-like tongues lap sugar water from a spoon, hoping they get stronger, waiting for the buzz as they become airborne. She wants to do this work, it feels important. 

She scours the industry forums and job postings for signs that she's missing out on something else, but she knows she's made her mind up. She drafts a letter to her landlord asking for a four month extension on her lease, something she was offered when she moved in but wasn't sure if she would need. 

She heads to the centre an hour or so early. Before she goes, she wedges one of Katya's chunky silver rings on her finger. Katya probably wears this one on her middle finger, but it fits best on Trixie's ring finger. Trixie doesn't know the symbol stamped on it, but she likes that it is smooth from wear.

She's timed it well, when she gets to the centre Katya is nowhere to be seen. The mess tables are mostly empty, there are only a few people typing on their laptops or making notes. She leaves her coat on, wedges her hands deep in her pockets as she fixes her eyes on the person she needs to talk to. 

"Hi, Violet, mind if I grab you real quick while it's pretty quiet?" 

Violet has her tablet in her hands, looks like she's deep into typing a long email. She sighs but puts it aside.

Violet gestures to a kick stool on the floor. Trixie sits on it obediently but her legs are too long, and the stool too short, for her to be able to sit comfortably. Her knees are bent at a savage angle right in front of her face. 

"Trixie, good to see you. Did you have a fun weekend?"

Violet is always poised, always polished. But Trixie doesn't miss the flicker of apprehension in her eyes. 

"It was great, thanks," Trixie says brightly. "So, Katya told me you've been friends since you were eighteen. You moved from the South for college. Is that right?" 

Violet nods, fiddles with the knobs of the enormous coffee machine. 

"But you decided to leave college to work full time. Katya says you've been amazing here. Inspirational, she says." 

Violet nods but looks unsure, "What are you after?"

"Nothing. I was just interested because I had a similar experience really. I left home to go to college and never went back. Of course, working is harder than college. But we used to work on real productions, real audiences, so I guess it is similar."

Violet whistles, "Good for you."

Violet folds some dry, clean dishcloths, places them in a drawer. 

Trixie starts again, "What I'm trying to say is, I don't think I would have had the emotional maturity to deal with supporting Katya at that age."

Violet stares at Trixie, "Why are you being the Dad's creepy girlfriend from The Parent Trap?"

Trixie needs to tread cautiously here, she knows. She doesn't need a repeat of their first conversation. 

"She's alive, so you've obviously done a good job of it."

Violet gives Trixie a small, cautious smile. 

Trixie continues, "Katya's explained to me that there's not going to be an end to this, for her - ." Trixie pauses, "And I'm alright with that," 

She continues, "But next time she feels so anxious that she thinks she might need drugs to deal with it, we're going to try a more conventional way of making her confident in managing that risk."

" _'We're'_ going to, are _'we'_?" 

"God permitting," Trixie isn't even sure where that phrase came from. Sometimes she feels her grandmother speaking through her mouth from beyond the grave. 

Violet smirks and repeats what Trixie said in a much stronger Southern accent than she usually uses. Trixie wonders if this is the voice Violet uses on the phone to her family, the one she uses first thing in the morning, the one she uses with her lovers. 

Trixie puts on her best hokey Southern voice, "If the Lord can lead you to it, he can lead you through it."

Violet snorts, pushes herself to sit up on the counter. Her knees splay to the sides, her feet dangle. Trixie has never seen Violet look this relaxed. 

"That's such a load of horseshit," Violet says, in her normal voice. She takes a deep breath, "You know, there have been a lot of women that have fallen for Katya. They think they're going to have a couple of months of athletic sex, get drawn like one of her French girls, and then end up with a warm, satisfied feeling from having 'fixed' her."

Trixie interrupts, "That's two fantastic nineties cinematic references you've made. I'm starting to enjoy this conversation."

Violet rolls her eyes. "You know what they get?" 

Trixie shakes her head, she hasn't spoken to Katya about any previous relationships. 

"Jack shit. She can smell those bitches from a fucking mile away." 

Trixie isn't sure how much she should level with Violet. She lets the pause stretch. Violet holds her eyes, clearly waiting for some sort of response from Trixie. 

"I don't want to fix her. I want her to have a satisfying life. I want her to know all the options open to her, to challenge herself. I want her to feel good about herself. I'd want the same for any woman I loved, regardless of whether she had an illness or not." Trixie can hear the vehemence in her voice, hopes Violet can hear it too. 

"I always thought she would end up with some super laid back, stoner chick."

Trixie thinks of her ex and can't resist wrinkling her nose, "And instead she's gone for some uptight, giant-footed Midwesterner," she finishes for Violet. 

Violet shrugs, "Do you actually want anything?" Trixie recognises that the conversation is closed for now. 

"I'll have a flat white please, Violet," 

"I'd take a water with that as well if I were you; Kat bounced in here with an inhuman amount of energy earlier. She's going to be making you all sweat,"

"Well, they say Philly has rejuvenating qualities. Actually, they say that about my cunt too, so don't give Philadelphia all the credit."

Violet laughs properly, it's the first time that Trixie has ever seen it. It's a big barking laugh with Violet's head tilted all the way back. She suddenly looks her age, the performative world-weariness fallen away. 

Trixie drinks her coffee and her water, sitting sideways on the stool with her legs draped all over the floor like a mermaid. Violet props herself up on the counter in companionable silence. The centre is quiet but for Katya's advanced class clattering down the stairs, through the cafe and out the front door. A few minutes after they leave, Trixie hears the echo of rapid footsteps flying down the wooden stairs, and recognises them immediately. She waits until they get closer, wants to see if she can make Katya jump. 

"Don't try it, bitch. I can see your Dolly Parton wig from here."

Trixie springs up right into Katya's grinning face. She's slightly sweaty and her cheeks are pink and her eyes are sparkling and Trixie has to swallow around how much she loves her.

She glares and hisses, "Don't say it's a wig! Someone might believe you!" 

Katya grabs her, one hand wrapped tightly around her waist and the other gripping her roots, "Look Vi, I told you it's a wig!" 

Trixie pushes back at her and before she knows it, they are tussling behind the counter. Trixie is breathless with laughter as Katya shunts her into the cabinets with her hip, even more so when she looks at Violet and she's staring at them like she wants to hang herself. 

Katya eventually gives up on pulling Trixie's hair. She stands behind Trixie, gives her tit a quick squeeze before she wraps her arms around Trixie's bigger body, pulling her close. Trixie assumed Katya would prefer to still keep things circumspect, but Trixie's pleased to be wrong. Trixie preens under Katya's attention, twists her spine to look back and down and smear a kiss on Katya's cheek bone. 

Katya eventually sits with her notebook and scribbles for a few minutes, sipping a glass of water. She pats Trixie's leg,

"Come on, let's go upstairs. Did you bring one of my spare mats from my place? A pregnant woman pissed on one of the spares I keep here last week, so you'll be playing piss roulette if you forgot."

"No, I got it," says Trixie as she follows Katya up the stairs. The studio smells of new paint. They've got ages before anyone arrives and Trixie wants a kiss. Katya gives her one swift peck and then Katya pulls Trixie's elbows out and spreads her arms out. She stands behind Trixie, plants her hand on Trixie's spine until it clicks. 

"Right, you. Do your shoulder stretches. I know your muscles will have seized up a bit from the drive."

Trixie pouts at her, but obediently tries a laughing cow pose. She knows it's not really called that, but it makes her smile to think of that night in Katya's bedroom; kneeling and feeling so turned on and frustrated that she wanted just to rub her head on the carpet, stick her ass up and keen for Katya. 

The other members trickle in. They wave to Trixie and Katya. One woman, Linda, grabs Trixie in a half-hug and an air kiss. Trixie can't remember whether she's the one that wanted advice on her daughter joining a theatre club, or the one with a holiday cabin in Northwoods. 

Katya watches them unroll their mats and settle down. Trixie watches for the tells of Katya's anxiety; the slight bounce on the ball of her feet, her fingers twisting together. She seems unsure whether to break into people's conversations. Eventually she does, and she calls people together to her stupid welcome circle. 

"Hi, I'm Katya! Glad to see so many people have been able to make it this week! I've had a couple of days off in Philadelphia being all cultural and shit!" 

The group make a satisfying 'ooh' noise. 

Katya points to Trixie, sitting at her right, "You next!"

"Hi, I'm the step mother from The Parent Trap in a Korean remake where I kill both children and marry the lizard, Trixie Mattel. I've also been in Philly taking in some culture."

She sees the eyes of some of the women switch from her to Katya and back again. She catches one furrow her brow. 

Trixie hopes that at least one of them is one of the ones Violet was talking about. The ten-year old Trixie she holds inside her chest is making gleefully rude gestures at their jealous faces. 

Violet's right, Katya works them all the way out. Trixie is sweaty and aching by the end. She feels strong. Now her limbs are loose and stretched, she can stand taller, spread her shoulders wider. Her thighs feel stronger and more grounded in the way they support her. Katya talks a lot about feeling grounded, feeling the bit of floor you're standing on and imagining the unbroken line to the centre of the Earth. Trixie imagines it, she feels solid and immovable. The sensation reminds her of the adrenaline she feels after a good show, a good fuck.

She helps Katya roll up the spare mats, waves people off with a cheery, "We'll meet you downstairs in a bit!" 

When the last woman is gone, Trixie walks to Katya with purpose and intent. She digs her thumbs under Katya's cheekbones, can feel Katya's teeth as she pulls her face in closer by the grip of her thumbs. She pushes her tongue in Katya's mouth almost immediately, swallows Katya's hum of surprise. She slides her hands down to Katya's slim hips, pulls them up and into her own. She feels Katya's heels leave the floor. Trixie groans into Katya's mouth, her hands feel shaky as they cup Katya's ass. Trixie slows the frenetic movements of their mouths, twists their hands together. The pads of their fingers rub together. They're so soft and so sensitive, little jolts run up Trixie's arms. 

"I want to fuck you up," Trixie rasps into her mouth. 

Katya's green eyes are wide and blank beneath her. She moves her mouth but nothing comes out. 

Trixie wheedles, "You give up that easy, huh?" She grins and waggles her shoulders, loving being obnoxious. 

Katya buries her head in Trixie's neck. She bites down hard, and Trixie throbs. 

"Come on, let's say goodbye to Violet and everyone else, and we'll go." 

Katya recovers quite quickly as they walk down the stairs. They give the cafe at large a quick wave as they head out. 

"What the fuck was with the lizard marrying?" Katya asks as she flings open the door of Trixie's car. She used to open it cautiously, taking care not to scrape its corner on the pavement. Now, she casts it open and throws herself inside in one smooth movement. 

"Oh, Violet accused me of being like the step-mother in The Parent Trap,"

"Hrm," Katya says, "You're more like the Baroness in the Sound of Music."

"Can I have Violet's phone number?" Trixie asks. 

"Why?" Katya sounds wary. 

Trixie speaks in a rush, "I'll be honest. I want it in case you are feeling bad and I need some support in knowing what to do." 

Trixie takes a deep breath and continues, "Also, I signed for another four months in my lease today and I'm thinking of having a house warming party now I know more people here, other than my scary boss and Pete the set builder who smells of Doritos and pulls the padge every lunchtime."

Katya looks thoughtful, "That's a good idea. Her only friends are art school poseurs on their way to unhealthy drug habits, and one pathetic thirty-something former art school poseur with an unhealthy drug habit. It'll do her good to get to know you better."

"Don't talk about yourself like that," Trixie frowns, laying her hand on Katya's knee. 

Katya's voice turns soft, "It's a good idea though, I can give you my mom's number as well."

"I'd love to have her at my house warming, I bet she loves to get her swerve on," 

Katya smiles, "For the first thing."

"I know, I know," Trixie keeps her eyes firmly on the road, "I don't have any parents for you to call, but you can have Kim and Bianca's numbers. If you want."

"Did your ex worry about you when you were on tour?" Katya's voice is slow, careful. "You know, driving late at night, that sort of thing."

"No," says Trixie, "It might have been nice if she had."

"I tend not to worry about death. I just assume the Grim Reaper is just going to jump out at me from behind a bush one day - "

Trixie opens her mouth to interrupt Katya, but she keeps talking.

"But I don't like to think of you doing anything that might get you hurt," Katya is studiously looking out the passenger side window, "I don't know what I'd do with myself."

The car lapses into silence. Trixie drives a different and slightly longer way, through a part of the city that is new to her. 

"You know," starts Katya, "I used to walk through here when I was thinking of killing myself." 

Trixie looks around, it's a pleasant looking street with brownstone houses and a few coffee shops. 

"I used to go out to the shed to think about it," Trixie replies.

Katya's head jerks around to face her, her eyes dark and fierce. "I'm sorry they weren't able to keep you safe." 

Trixie drives home like she's got a baby in the back seat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there should be a Christmas chapter coming very shortly in lieu of the real last chapter, and then the real last chapter probably the other side of Christmas.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote most of this on various lunch breaks as my colleagues have been enforcing Christmas cheer on me! I lost my confidence in posting it a bit and was going to re-draft, and then @UNHhhh drove me a bit wild with her post about Busted Saddles on Tumblr yesterday and I decided to go for it because, fuck it, bondage IS festive, because it's what I'd rather be doing this Christmas.
> 
> Thank you all for your support and wonderful feedback on my last few chapters, I'm excited (and a bit sad!) about writing a satisfactory conclusion to this self-indulgent romp. Thank you especially to @artificiallale for letting me ramble about Trixie and Katya's past & future & other things! 
> 
> Thank you (and apologies) to Marianne Moore for my new tag.

Trixie wakes early, in Katya's bed, on Christmas morning. She tries to stay asleep as long as she can but the childish part of her brain keeps needling her, telling her _it's Christmas! Wake up!_ She tries to suppress it but she can't help checking the time on her phone. 

Katya's attic apartment is cold and the insides of the windows are frosty. Katya has a variety of blankets strewn over the bed, and beneath them Trixie is warm. She gives up on sleep, resigns herself to reading the news on her phone as the room lightens around her.

When she was younger and Christmas seemed special, she'd forbid anyone in her house from looking at the news on Christmas Day. Every year she'd hoped for a day safer and more sterile than the inside of a snow globe. She reads a story about a man from Delaware shooting his kids, his wife, his dog, and then himself in a row about Christmas presents. She feels nauseous. She tries to distract herself with her Chicago Bitches WhatsApp group, but neither Kim nor Bianca have been online for hours. 

In the night they had drifted away from each other. Katya's hair is messy on the pillow, her nipples soft in the warmth under the duvet. She rarely sleeps later than Trixie. Trixie rarely wakes her, knowing that if she sleeps in, it's usually a precious respite from anxiety. But the story spooked her, and she wants Katya's comfort. She trails her fingers in loose, swirling patterns over Katya's vulva. Not pressing in between her labia, but tapping her fingers gently across them. Katya stirs a bit, smiling and murmuring. There's a sliver of green as she cracks her eye open slightly.

Christmas morning starts with some messy 69ing, followed by long, slow kisses by the coffee maker in their dressing gowns.

"Shall we do presents?" Katya asks. 

Trixie knows that there is a phonecall she should make first. Katya gives Trixie space that Trixie doesn't really ask for, shutting the door softly behind herself. The sheets are still rumpled in the nest they made, warm and slightly damp. 

"Hi mom, it's me."

Her mother's voice is faint over the receiver. She shushes someone in the background. Her heart jumps at the thought of it being one of her siblings.

"Yeah, I'm working in Pittsburgh. Really busy, everyone is really excited, " She hurriedly gets the weather app up on her home screen to check Pittsburgh, "No, it's not snowing, not yet."

It's snowing back home. Trixie knows it will be more beautiful and fearsome than the mizzling sleet Katya calls snow. 

"That does sound nice, mom. But you know what I would need for that to happen, and I don't think you want to do those things." 

Trixie is resolute, but still holds out a childish hope that her mother will agree to the terms she has set in order to visit them at home in Wisconsin. She doesn't let herself feel disappointed when her mother starts listing the reasons why she feels Trixie is being ungrateful and unreasonable. She set her terms years ago, when she finally internalised the message that she isn't the one who needs to feel shame. Being with Katya has just strengthened her resolve further. Instead, she checks the time. 3 minutes, eight - nine - ten seconds. She tries to start winding up. 

"It's getting pretty hectic here now mom, got to go. Merry Christmas."

The Chicago Bitches group is still quiet. Looks like Bianca has been online but hasn't messaged. She must be late for work. 

Trixie leans off the edge of the bed and fishes for her guitar. She'd brought over three bags of things for their little Christmas break, slinging the guitar over her shoulder at the last minute in hope that she could jolly Katya into a festive sing along. 

She settles herself against the headboard, closes her eyes. She dolefully picks at her guitar strings and sings an old English hymn that she half remembers. The high ceilings of Katya's apartment reflect the sound back to her and her voice sounds rich and full. She trails off and returns to the chorus when she forgets the words of the verses.

_Lully, lullay, Thou little tiny Child_  
_By, by, lully, lullay_  
_Lullay, Thou little tiny Child  
_ _By, by, lully, lullay_

__

__

_O sisters, too, how may we do_  
_For to preserve this day_  
_This poor youngling for whom we sing  
_ _By, by, lully, lullay_

_Herod the King, in his raging_  
_Charged he hath this day  
_ _His men of might..._

"Is that you singing, Trix? You sound gorgeous." 

Trixie stops singing. She holds her guitar tight to her chest. Katya gets back in bed with her for a few minutes, burrowing her cold nose into Trixie's hair. 

Katya whispers, "Can we move to the lounge? I need to make sure I can hear my phone."

Trixie knows there's no place in the apartment that Katya won't hear it, but she nods and unwinds her guitar strap from around her shoulders. She forces herself to swing her legs out of the bed and onto the cold floor. 

Katya has volunteered to be on-call for the other people at her old support group. There's a drop-in, but for anyone that can't get away from their family, there's Katya. She's taken it extremely seriously, phone constantly on charge and volume turned up to its highest level. Trixie has urged her to put it on her resume, call it 'on-call phone volunteer for grassroots peer support agency.'

Katya quickly checks the notifications on her screen as she crosses through the lounge holding Trixie's presents in her arms. Trixie flicks the lights on their tree on. It's not a tree, not really. Katya has dragged in a handful of twigs from the Arnold Arboretum and wound some little warm-white LEDS around them. Katya's explanation of it being a reference to a Pagan tradition are pretentious, but Trixie quite likes the way it looks when she's had a fiddle with the little plastic capsules so they all face the way they should. 

Her presents from Katya are the most tastefully wrapped gifts that Trixie has ever seen. She appreciates the weight of Katya's wrapping paper, it's the thick brown stuff you buy in individual sheets from little bookshops or the gift shop of galleries. The paper is stamped with irregular, matte silver stars which Katya has lined up either side of the join so there is never a half star. 

Trixie tries to resist opening the box that is unmistakably jewellery first, but she just can't do it. It's a silver ring, tall and cuff-like, taking up all the space between her second and third knuckles. There are raised square patches of brushed silver, cross shaped holes and little silver bobbles all over it. It's not quite to Trixie's taste, but it fits perfectly (the little sneak must have stolen one of her rings) and has quite a heft to it as, she notes as she weighs it in her palm. 

"Do you like it?"

"It's very different!" 

"Yes! That's why I got it! My friend from college made it, she has a shop in South End."

"South End? Fancy!" says Trixie as she wiggles her fingers, enjoying the unfamiliar weight of the silver on her hand. "How was it?" Katya will know what she means, she's spoken to Trixie before about being embarrassed to talk to college friends who are still paid artists. 

"Oh, fine. I said I was a self-employed teacher and occasional mental health practitioner. Said the ring was for my new partner and things were going _very well indeed,_ " Katya is using her pretentious voice, but her eyes are sparkling. 

Trixie leans over to kiss Katya, "Well that's all true." 

Her stomach feels warm and squirmy at the thought of Katya showing off, showing off about her. 

Katya grabs Trixie's hand and links their fingers together, rubs her fingers over the irregular lumps and bumps of the silver, "I liked the way you can fiddle with it, when I picked it up I thought about doing this while we were holding hands."

Trixie adores her. Can't keep the smile off her face when she's with her. Could never be without her. 

"I love it, Katya. Thank you!" 

She reaches for her second gift, a large box that she can't quite work out. She takes her time, slipping her finger under the expertly measured tape. 

She laughs when she sees the iconic logo, Katya starts cackling alongside her. She already knows what Trixie is thinking and says, "You totally can wear them! Your feet aren't _that_ big!" 

Trixie lifts them from the box. As usual, Katya's taste level is idiosyncratic but impeccable. She hasn't gone for the usual patent ones, but the pastel, untreated leather with the unfinished edges around the ankles. The iconic yellow stitching is pastel pink, as is the font on the tab at the back. Her feet are going to look like boats. Big, candyfloss covered boats. But she can't wait to get them on. 

She's suddenly anxious about her own gifts. Over the last few months she's been watching Katya put foundation on with her fingers or scraping around the corners of an eye-shadow pan. On one occasion she had tried to reform a cracked powder blusher with rubbing alcohol. Trixie had thought it might be nice to get Katya a full set of make up, all matching. 

Trixie doesn't find many things as relaxing as swiping across an eye-shadow for the first time with a brand new brush, or twisting up a virgin lipstick. She'd enjoyed picking them out, analysing Katya's skin type and the colour of her veins underneath the skin on her wrists. Her favourite purchase was the eye-shadow palette in a selection of dark purple, berry and warm neutral tones, perfect for Katya's light green eyes. 

But now it seems too corporate, too impersonal. Why didn't she try any vintage shops, any boutiques? What if Katya thinks it's a comment on the way she looks? Surely she must know that Trixie thinks she's the most beautiful woman she's ever seen. 

Trixie had bought a large patterned box, filled it with red and gold lametta and all the smaller boxes. Katya is rooting through it, letting out little gasps when she stumbles upon another little box buried in the packaging.

"Are they okay?" Trixie asks worriedly, "I can exchange them. I'm not saying you need lots of make up! But I knew you ran out of -" 

Katya launches herself into Trixie's lap, grabbing her cheeks and leaving a sloppy kiss on her greasy, unwashed forehead. 

They spend the next half an hour listening to Trixie's favourite country Christmas playlist while she tries her new boots on and Katya slowly lines up her make up boxes in height order, cooing over the matte black packaging. 

When the playlist loops around to the beginning, Katya crowds into Trixie's personal space. She's all dark eyes and sharp teeth. Her pyjama top is hanging on by one button. She smells of comfort and home, at odds with the downright dangerous expression on her face. 

"So, Trixie Mattel. What do you want to do now?" 

Twenty minutes later, and Trixie is coming twitching on the rug, Katya's fingers pushing in and out of her while she touches her own clit. She's rocking back and forth onto Katya's hand, making her breasts bounce under her pushed-up pyjama top. It doesn't take long for Katya either. Trixie pushes herself up against the sofa and Katya straddles her, wrapping her legs around Trixie's middle and running her hands through her hair. Trixie dips her hand between them, teasing Katya lightly until she bites down hard on Trixie's shoulder. 

It's only 11, but they decide it's probably time to order a Chinese takeout. They order a feast, Trixie on the phone with her sticky hands while Katya lies naked across her lap. Katya urges Trixie to get all her vegetarian favourites, and all the vegetarian dishes she hasn't tried yet. Katya gets a full rack of ribs and something that promises to be almost inedibly hot. Katya convinces her that it's alright for them to pay $8 for some braised pak choi with cashew nuts. They order enough for the evening, and enough for Violet when she shows up. Katya is always a generous tipper but today she tips a full $40 on their order and offers the driver some of her weird European Christmas biscuits. 

Before Violet arrives, they manage to shower and put on some clean clothes. The doorbell trills as they lay entwined on the sofa. Trixie drags herself away from Katya to open it, but has to choke back a gasp as she opens the door to Violet Chachki. Violet's make-up free, wearing some low-slung jeans, a half tucked white tee and a silver velvet bomber jacket. Her hair is loose and unstyled, the lengths petering out to an inch of straggly dry hair. She gives Trixie a quick kiss on the cheek and pushes past her to the kitchen. 

"I'm fucking starving! Where are the noodles you promised me?" 

Trixie can't push down the pang of jealousy that she gets when she sees Katya and Violet open their presents for each other. She does a quick calculation in her head and is shamefully pleased that her gifts are, depending on the price of the ring, the most expensive. But she still feels resentful of the four years of history on display. Katya has got Violet a weird collection of presents, from a creepy china clown to a set of cutlery clearly stolen from the nice restaurant Trixie took Katya to. She also seems to have made Violet nipple pasties covered in googly eyes, and splashed out on a beautiful vintage night gown. In return, Violet has got Katya some crinkled and water stained tarot cards, a strange choker made out of keys welded together and a disconcertingly sharp-looking knife. 

Trixie surreptitiously checks her phone. There's been a flurry of messages between Kim and Bianca. Kim is at home with her family and has posted a series of sweet selfies with older family members. Meanwhile, Bianca is cursing her decision to be a dresser for a matinee of The Nutcracker. Trixie coerces Violet and Katya to take a selfie with her which she shares with the group. Bianca swiftly replies with 'Katya's friend...' and a series of the eye emoji. 

She's flabbergasted when Violet presses a messily wrapped present into her hands. It's a cook book entitled "Easy Veggie Meals," with a pull quote on the blurb reading, _'perfect for the college freshman in your life'_. Inside the cover, Violet has slipped a pen drawing of Trixie that she has penciled over in bright pink tones. 

"I drew it for Katya and she thought it was hilarious, so I saved it for you."

Violet has drawn her as Porno Barbie, complete with a fairly good rendering of the Mattel font on the outside of her box. Violet has drawn her with a waspish, exaggerated waist and long, thin arms. It's something that a lot of slim people do, even Bianca. She finds it intensely irritating, but she can't pretend she doesn't like the drawing as a whole. 

"I love the way you've added the little plastic tags on my wrists, and the way the window really looks like see through plastic!"

Violet smirks, "Katya told me you liked a bit of tying down."

Katya affects innocence, fiddling with the microwave buttons as she reheats chow mein for Violet. 

When Violet next goes to the bathroom, Trixie urgently pulls Katya aside, "Why the fuck didn't you tell me that Violet was getting me something?" 

"I didn't know!" 

"You could have at least put my name on the tags, rather than throwing me under the bus!" 

Katya rolls her eyes, "Trixie, it's only a book. It's the quintessential, 'What do I get for someone that I don't know?' gift."

"I still feel stupid."

Katya shrugs, "Get her something for her birthday."

"When is it?" Trixie says. 

"Ugh, June? July? I can't remember!"

"I am literally going to choke you," laughs Trixie, reaching her hands towards Katya's narrow neck. 

"Kinky," drawls Violet from the doorway. 

Violet insists they watch _Gone With The Wind._ She takes up almost all of the space on the sofa, lies on her side with a hot water bottle pressed into her stomach. Trixie and Katya chat quietly as the film rumbles on. Katya hates it. She gives up after a while and sits on the floor, swatching her new eye shadows up and down her arms. 

After a while, Trixie notices that Violet is crying. Just a thin track of tears tracing her cheekbone, turning the couch cushion a slightly darker colour. 

"Vi, are you okay?" Trixie whispers, trying to pitch it low enough that Katya won't hear. She gets a tight nod in return. Violet's eyes are fixed on the film, her lips just moving slightly as they copy the words on the screen. She's word perfect, lipsyncing along with Scarlett as she confronts Ashley. 

_"You'd rather live with that silly old fool who can't open her mouth except to say yes, no, and raise a passel of mealy-mouthed brats just like her!"_

Trixie tries to make Violet laugh. She approximates a Southern accent and holds one of Katya's blankets around herself, swishing it like a big crinoline skirt. It kind of works, or at least Violet doesn't tell her to shut up. 

During Scarlett and Rhett's next altercation Trixie takes Rhett's part, seizing Violet's hand and affecting a stern face.

_"Open your eyes and look at me. No, I don't think I will kiss you — although you need kissing badly. That's what's wrong with you. You should be kissed, and often, and by someone who knows how."_

Trixie grabs Violet's shoulders as Clark Gable does on the screen. Violet twists away, but giggles and mouths the words to Scarlett's part. 

After a while, Violet falls silent again. The Civil War rumbles on. Violet is pushing the hot water bottle against her stomach with some force. She's taken the fabric cover off, and the hot rubber is leaving little red lines on her skin. 

Trixie tries to engage her, "Hey, Vi, it's Atlanta you're from isn't it? You wouldn't know Atlanta was the same place as the one in the film, it looks so different now. I was there about a year -" 

"That's because they fucking burnt it to the ground. As you have just fucking seen in the film."

Trixie bites her lip. A minute later, Violet squeezes Trixie's finger, gives her a tentative smile. 

By the intermission, Violet has inched back over so her head is in Trixie's lap, dark hair puddled all over Trixie's thighs. She strokes it tenderly, teases it so she can hook it behind Violet's ear. She's very beautiful. Trixie likes her distinctive nose, her curved eyebrows.

Earlier, Trixie had told Violet she looked a bit like Vivien Leigh, and Violet had pulled the neck of her t-shirt up over her mouth, chewing it slightly. Only the slight bulge of her cheeks showed that, under the fabric, Violet was smiling. 

"Yeah, and you look like Melly," Violet had sniped, poking Trixie with her feet. 

Now, Violet is so peaceful as she sleeps in Trixie's lap. Trixie can't help scheming; what would benefit Violet the most? Maybe she could convince some directors she knows to co-produce with the Centre, or get Violet some costume work with Bianca. She smirks when she thinks of Bianca's response to Trixie's picture. She strokes her fingers over her new ring. The weight of the silver is still unfamiliar and a bit uncomfortable.

Katya disrupts her thoughts, "Come to bed with me."

"I can't leave Violet here on her own," Trixie whispers. 

Katya crosses the room, stands behind Trixie and bends down to whisper, "We won't go to bed for the night, we'll come back. Just, come to bed with me."

Katya's eyes are so green, her hands so warm as they rub the back of Trixie's neck. She wants to give in. She wants to hold Katya so close she can feel her heartbeat, wants her world to shrink to the sanctuary of their bed. 

"What if she wakes up?" 

Katya shrugs, "She's a heavy sleeper."

Trixie shuffles a bit, and Violet doesn't stir. She manages to wedge herself out from underneath her. Trixie folds Katya's throw around Violet's body, while Katya finds a pillow for her head. Trixie can't resist giving her cheek a gentle kiss before she follows Katya into her bedroom. 

"What if she wakes up, wonders where we've gone and follows us in here?"

"I'll say, 'Your mommies are just being silly, go back to bed.'"

"That's disgusting! Don't you dare say that."

Katya pulls one of her silk scarfs out of the loops on the back of her door, holds it out in front of Trixie. 

"This can help you keep quiet," 

Trixie holds out her hand, "Oh no, not while she's out there," 

But she can't deny the dirty thrill that runs through her stomach at the thought. 

Katya advances with it, walks behind Trixie. Katya only needs to walk her fingers purposefully down the curve of Trixie's spine and she's nodding, mouth dry. 

Katya doubles the thin silk and ties a loose knot in the middle, pulls it tight to form a rough ball.

Katya strokes her finger down the bridge of Trixie's nose and Trixie obediently drops her jaw. Katya pushes it in with one finger, then ties the ends in a floppy bow at the back of Trixie's head. 

"That's a pretty bow," 

Trixie's eyes slide to the mirror on Katya's desk. She does look pretty with the pink flush on her cheeks poking out over the cornflower blue fabric. Without mascara, her dark eyes and blonde, translucent eyelashes make her look both young and otherworldly. Her blonde curls tumble down to the small of her back and the bow sits on them nicely, primly. 

Katya takes Trixie's hand gently, rubbing over her new ring. Trixie lets her eyes flutter closed as Katya's fingers caress her wrist, pressing lightly on the pulse there. Her breathing deepens. Katya gathers her second wrist. She pretends to herself that she can't predict what Katya's about to do. But she can. When Katya leans across to grab another scarf her grip slackens, but Trixie doesn't even twitch. Katya's binding is lazy, three rings around her wrist and one through the middle. Then another bow. Katya pushes Trixie forward on the bed. 

Trixie imagines Violet in the doorway. Not tearful and vulnerable as she is now, but domineering, like the burlesque photos she posts on Instagram. Glossy black hair, waist tightly sculpted in silk and steel, eyebrow arched like Scarlett in that red dress.

"Fuck, Trixie, it didn't take long for you to swallow up Katya's whole hand," Trixie imagines Violet sneering, as she lounges against the door post with her long, stockinged legs crossed over each other. 

Trixie would flush at that, bury her head in the mattress. Katya would smirk down at Trixie, pat her head softly. 

"Listen to how wet her cunt is, Katya, is she always like this?" 

In her fantasy, Trixie tries to struggle to her feet to confront Violet, but would be hampered by the tie on her wrist. She imagines wriggling ineffectually on the bed, trying to inch back enough to get her feet on the ground. 

She images Violet giggling at the way her fat, white ass would jiggle as she attempted to rise. 

Katya would move to the side to show Violet the obscene shock of her white wrist sticking out of Trixie's pink cunt, and the wetness seeping out around it.

"Katya! Look how wet your arm is. She wants it really deep, obviously. Push in more, I want to see it."

Real Katya pushes deep, shunting Trixie an inch or two further along the mattress. Trixie wants to yell, but knows the thin scarf is only capable of disguising a fraction of the sound she's capable of making. Katya has pulled it tight and the fabric is chafing the corners of her mouth. The silk ball on her tongue is sodden and heavy now, and she's beginning to make a small damp patch on the pillow.

Katya is balling her fist at Trixie's entrance, making her lightheaded with need. She whimpers and tries to push back on Katya. If she could move her arms she would be on her hands and knees by now. Katya pushes deep again but keeps her fist tight, rocking it from side to side. It hurts but feels incredible, sensation flooding through her whole body. 

She whimpers, the sound escaping from her nose. Before the sound fades in the air, Katya roughly pushes her face in the bed. Katya moves to kneel on the bed so she can continue to fuck Trixie and keep Trixie's head firmly in the sheets. Trixie is already sex-flushed, but the heavy blanket across her face is stifling. She snuffles and sputters into it. When she comes Katya releases her so she can take some deep breaths. The sound of her panting is obscene in the quiet.

Katya drags Trixie by the ankles until she's hanging off the bed, pushes the backs of her knees to fold her to the floor. She settles herself in front of Trixie, legs spread broadly. She grins just as broadly, plucks the bow open and draws Trixie to her. Trixie eats her out sloppily. She can't help thinking that if Violet pushed the door open now, the first thing she'd see would be Trixie's ass and her hands tied, folded and propped on top of it. 

She imagines Violet in the doorway, watching Katya spread her legs wider and wider, kick them in the air. 

Her imaginary Violet drawls, "That good, Kat?" 

Real Katya moves her hands from the back of Trixie's neck to her hair and starts pulling at it. She holds Trixie's hair like a resistance band, spreading her arms and arching her back. She's more mobile and serpentine than Trixie is used to. The movement of her hips is making tracks on the sheets. Trixie has to shuffle from side to side on her knees to try and keep up with her. Every time Trixie tries to add suction Katya moves her hips and breaks the vacuum with a loud smacking sound. Katya does a good job of coming silently; eyes screwed shut, chin on her chest, lips bitten and a series of short, reflexive thrusts against Trixie's face. 

They tip toe out of the bedroom, across the lounge, and into the bathroom to wash up. Katya is sated and sunny, humming a Christmas carol quietly as she soaps between her fingers. Trixie feels a bit dazed. Katya sets Trixie down next Violet's legs. She sits like a mannequin, back straight and hands folded in her lap. The crotch of her sweats is gummy with her wetness and the bottom of her stomach is sore. 

Violet is still curled up, asleep on the couch. On the screen the Civil War is over, but Rhett and Scarlett are still arguing about that boring lump Ashley. 

Katya drapes herself languidly over the arm next to Trixie, and Violet begins to stir. 

She looks confused, grabbing her hair with one hand. "Kat? Am I at your place? What time is it?"

Katya starts to say something facetious but Trixie talks over her, "Yeah, it's half five, come and have a coffee with us."

It only takes a few seconds for the sleepy cast in Violet's eyes to clear, like a cloud passing from in front of the moon. Her eyes are quick and clever again, and she gives Trixie a knowing once over. Trixie tries not to flush or fidget. She involuntarily squeezes her thighs together and feels the dampness squash around in her panties. Violet spares her whatever she's clearly thinking. 

They spend the rest of the evening in what Katya would call _engaged silence._ The howling wind beats against the side of the attic, and if Trixie leans up in her seat she can see the fine snow churning in the sky. Violet moves to the table to work on Katya's battered laptop. She has a whole stack of demographic data that she is dutifully entering into a spreadsheet. Her typing comes in fast, irate bursts. Katya sits on the couch next to Trixie, twisted on her hip and rubbing her feet along Trixie's thigh. She is drawing something impenetrable and symbolic, crosshatching in tiny rows and rows that make Trixie feel a bit dizzy. Her sketchbook is propped up on the back of the couch, and she bends over it so closely that her nose is almost touching the paper. 

Trixie picks up her guitar again, attempting to hang together the little snatches of old fashioned Christmas songs her grandparents had taught her. It takes a few tries to get the tune right. She tries the same line a few times, sings it softly to help herself work it out. She half expects Katya to draw the room's attention to her singing, Violet to add her acerbic commentary. Instead, Katya's toes twitch under Trixie's thighs with the rhythm of her playing. Trixie sings a little louder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that if you have to engage with toxic or abusive people over this holiday period, you get to set your own boundaries and build your own families. And if you still can't escape, I hope it's bearable.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am, as ever, #teamKatya always & forever. I am also #team-the-international-community-of-people-that-have-experienced-poor-mental-health-and-substance-misuse, of which I am a member. We're a brilliant community of extremely resilient people and there is love and support in abundance in our community. 
> 
> If you haven't seen the [ absolutely gorgeous art that Nina has created inspired by chapter 5,](https://bluegrassed.tumblr.com/post/169115796635/trixie-stops-under-a-street-light-and-starts-tap) you must do!! I'm so grateful for it. It's beautiful and it has been my phone background for weeks. She's so talented!
> 
> My wife sent me [this really fascinating article](http://www.theintervalny.com/features/2018/01/female-lighting-designers-past-present-and-future/) about the past, present and future of women lighting designers the other day.
> 
>   _For Tipton, who recently did A Doll’s House Part 2 on Broadway, lighting is all about the design...“It’s about composition both in time and space,” she said. “It’s about color, intensity, control. I call it the music for the eye. It enjoys the same kinds of ideas that music has, like theme and variation… I don’t think it should frighten any person who has a sense of art.”_
> 
> No real trigger warnings for this chapter, but Katya and Trixie do throw around some outdated words for mental illness diagnoses in a jokey way. Which isn't particularly nice.

Katya waits for Trixie to hit the buzzer, then makes her way up the shared entrance way and up to Trixie’s flat. She kicks off the grey slushy snow from her shoes as she goes. Trixie’s door is ajar, and she calls out to Trixie as she steps over the threshold and slams the door behind her.

The kitchen is hot, the windows steamed up against the cold February air. There’s a strong umami smell, and Katya’s stomach starts to stir with hunger. Trixie’s got her old college sweater on and in the steamy kitchen her baby hairs have curled and are sticking straight up. Katya wants to give them a little tug. The table is full of red and white bags from the Korean supermarket downtown. There’s a fat paper bag of steamed buns, a tub of soy bean paste, and a long, gnarly root of ginger set out on the side.

“Hi, hi!” Trixie says as she kisses Katya’s cheek, “I’m on FaceTime with Kim. She’s teaching me how to make Korean food. Have you been to this place? It’s amazing. Look how much chilli paste I got for three dollars!”

She holds up another plastic tub that looks like it could double as a paint can. Katya definitely told Trixie about that store months ago, but Trixie had interrupted her to tell her about how they used to live near the Koreatown in Albany Park when they first moved to Chicago.

Katya turns to wave at Kim, sat in the kitchen of Trixie’s old apartment. She’s heard Kim’s voice on the phone and seen lots of pictures of her make-up and artwork on Instagram, but has never intruded on their regular FaceTime dates before. She sits at the table so she’s in the view of the camera, Trixie’s butt bobbing about behind Katya’s head as she prepares radishes on the kitchen counter.

“You alright, Katya? Trix said you’ve just started at community college?”

Katya nods, “It’s not the full Masters, but I guess I can use it to maybe offer some free counselling at the women’s community art centre I work at. I’ve been talking to Ginger, the Director, about a referral process. We're not quite sure how we'd work a waiting list.”

Trixie butts in, “It might not all be free. A sliding scale according to need, we thought.”

Katya shrugs, pulls the sleeves of her favourite red sweater over her hands, “I’d like to specialise in drug interventions.”

Trixie puts her face on Katya’s shoulder so Kim can see her too, “With yoga and counselling, maybe massage or something like that as well, Katya could really do a range of therapies anywhere we – she, ends up settling down.” 

Katya watches the little small moving picture of her and Trixie at the bottom corner of the screen. They look good together. Trixie kisses the top of her head.

Kim smiles warmly at Katya. She says, “You watch yourself with this one. Without Bianca keeping her in check, she’s turning into a megalomaniac.”

Katya can’t keep from grinning, “I’ve got ways of putting her back in her place,”

Trixie screeches and gives Katya a sharp tug on her hair. Katya pulls Trixie’s messy curls in retaliation. Trixie gives a deep moan, then covers her mouth with her hand in shock. 

“Right, I officially feel uncomfortable now,” Kim speaks from the screen. 

Trixie pinches the fabric of her sweater between her fingers and sniffs it. “I don’t think I need to do anything with the food for a while, so I’m going to shower and change. Katya, you entertain Kim!”

Katya watches Trixie skid across the wood floor in thick, fleecy socks, a washed out old blood stain on the back of her grey sweats. 

Katya has felt a bit sheepish around Trixie's friends since that night in Philadelphia. She knew that Trixie had told them about it, it would be unfair to ask her not to. Trixie had tried to reassure Katya that she had only told them the bare minimum, and had praised Katya's resilience and strength.

About a month after Philly, Bianca had called while Trixie was peeing. Katya had clutched Trixie's phone in her hand, heart speeding up as she stared at Bianca's name and the picture of Bianca, all wide eyes and thick mascara.

"Can you get it for me, please?" Trixie shouted. 

Katya had stood in the kitchen, hand around the phone as it buzzed.

"Just fucking answer it!" screeched Trixie through the door.

"Hi Bianca. It's Katya, Trixie's—” 

"Pissing," Bianca's voice boomed through the speaker, simultaneously abrasive and soothing. 

"Um, yeah, she is. How are you?" 

"Ah you know, working, working. And I’ve got these two bitches in Chicago plus Trixie still needing me to be their mama."

"Hm," said Katya. 

"It snowing in Boston?" 

"Not at the moment," Katya drew breath to add another sentence but Bianca interrupted.

"Good. You ready for Christmas?" 

Katya replied, "Well I'm not doing much, we'll just get carry out with my friend Violet."

"Great. Now, Trixie told me you two really got into it in Philadelphia. Don't let her push you around, now."

"I don't think that was really the –” 

"And she's no angel either. Trixie once rung me in a sweat saying she had taken too much ecstasy. I got home, and she was sat in the garden with Kim, so sunburnt that I was finding bits of flaked off skin on the furniture for weeks."

Before Katya could respond, Trixie had emerged from the bathroom and taken the phone from Katya's hand.

"Bianca, what nonsense have you been telling Katya now?" Trixie had thrown herself down on the sofa to bellow lovingly down the phone at Bianca and Katya had sat listening to them go back and forth, rubbing over Trixie’s calves. 

Compared to Bianca, Kim seems much more content to sit in companionable silence. Kim gets on with some drawing work, and Katya starts a little sketch of the root ginger on the paper Trixie had used to make notes of Kim's recipe. She likes the rough surface, the way the root bulges irregularly. When she looks close, there are tiny fibres poking out of the part where Trixie has cut into it, and it's oozing a little. Katya stops for a little while to think about how she can use her mark making to convey the different textures. They stop to show each other what they’ve been doing every few minutes.

Trixie reappears from the bathroom in newer sweats and a different t-shirt. 

“Right, this should be ready to eat now,” she pronounces.

“Great, I hope it’s good. Don’t blame me if it’s not. There’s nothing I can do to improve your white girl palette. Bye Katya, nice hanging with you!” Trixie's tablet bleeps as Kim disconnects, and Katya helps Trixie get plates and glasses together.

They eat at the kitchen table, talking through what they’ve done that day. Trixie’s baked tofu is sweet and spicy, and the salad is crisp and refreshing. They usually eat out or eat simply, and it makes her feel a sneaky, guilty sort of glee that Trixie is learning how to cook for the benefit for them both. She wonders if it makes her a bad feminist, when the thought of Trixie fattening Katya up makes her feel so beatific. 

After dinner they move to the sofa and chat for a while, but Trixie keeps interrupting Katya, leaning in and kissing her with intent. She’s dragging her fingers up the insides of Katya’s forearms, making her shiver. Trixie has obviously been working herself up for some time; she’s moaning and whimpering as she presses her tongue into Katya’s mouth. 

“Come on,” Katya whispers, “Let’s just go straight to bed.”

In Trixie's bed they make out like teenagers and Trixie does her best to keep twisting herself so she’s always prone under Katya, spreading her legs under Katya’s narrow hips. She keeps shuffling down so she's shorter than Katya. Trixie brings her hands up to rest lightly on Katya’s shoulders, like they’re swaying slowly at the end of a school dance. Katya knows this mood, is more than happy to capitulate to it. She can feel herself getting wet at the thought of fucking a pliant, submissive Trixie. 

Katya hangs over the side of the mattress, rummaging in the drawer under the bed while Trixie sits against the pillows, curls matting at the back of her head and lips swollen from kissing. Katya’s not sure what she’s looking for, but she knows she’ll know when she finds it. Trixie leans over to grab Katya's small ass, digs her fingers into the muscular backs of her thighs. Katya can't help squirming and laughing, kicking her legs to escape her. 

She digs through the carefully folded lingerie that Trixie keeps alongside her sex toys, before stumbling on something she's never noticed before. 

It's long and slim, soft pink, and ends in a wide suction cup.

“What,” Katya says slowly, “is this?”

“Oh!” Trixie giggles. “It’s just something that I used to use when I wanted to be fucked properly and there's no-one around to do it for me.”

Trixie gives that sly smile that pushes her round cheeks up. “I used it more when I was seeing Pearl.”

Katya’s own cheeks heat. The corners of her mouth twist into a slow, smug smile. 

“Oh, really?” Katya says archly.

“Yes, really.”

“So why was it at the top of your drawer?”

Trixie rolls her eyes. “I used it the other week when you were at Vi’s poetry thing.”

“I remember that! I came over afterwards and we watched four episodes of _Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt_ and cuddled, then went to bed early.”

“Yeah, well, you never fuck me after poetry,” Trixie says.

“I don’t even like poetry!” Katya retorts. 

“You always come back all tender and pensive! You let me listen to Lucius and ate me out for like an hour. And that just wasn’t what I was in the mood for.”

Katya can’t believe any woman would complain about that, but feels a bit lightheaded at the thought of Trixie alone and desperate, finding new and better ways to fuck herself harder, deeper.

“What were you in the mood for?” Her voice is dark.

Trixie is getting flustered and it’s delicious. Her hands are balled up on top of her duvet, pressing down hard so she can rear up in agitation.

“I told you, to be fucked properly.”

Katya flashes her teeth. She hauls herself back from the hanging over the edge of the bed. She holds the plastic in one hand, but grabs Trixie’s ankle with the other. It’s hot to the touch.

“And you think that this would do a better job than me?” She says deliberately coolly. She loosens her hold on the dildo so she’s just holding the base between her thumb and fore-finger. She lets it dangle like a pendulum in front of Trixie’s face.

Trixie tucks her chin into her chest. It gives her a double chin and Katya wants to kiss it. 

Trixie gives Katya a narrow-eyed glance from under her lashes, “Well, sometimes.” 

Oh, she’s going to get it. 

Katya says calmly, “I think you better get on the floor, don’t you?” 

It’s not a real question.

Trixie swings her legs out of the bed, and kneels down for Katya. Katya pats her shoulder as she goes down, and tosses a pillow after her. 

“Do you stick it to the mirror on your closet door?” she asks.

Trixie nods.

“And do you stay on your knees?” 

Trixie nods again.

“Shuffle on back to the mirror then.” Katya’s mouth is dry.

Trixie does, and while she’s moving the pillow under her knees, Katya stands to pass her the dildo.

“You have to fucking close your eyes or something while I get this ready!” Trixie hisses.

Katya is always surprised by the way that Trixie can switch between glassy eyed compliance and her usual ill-tempered self.

“Chuck me the lube as well, eh?” Trixie continues.

Katya gropes blindly by the night stand and rolls the bottle of lube to Trixie across the floor.

She hears the squelch of the pump, and then the noise of Trixie squashing the base of the dildo onto the smooth surface. After that there’s a bit of a shuffling noise, followed by Trixie cursing.

“You can open your eyes now,” Trixie says sullenly, like she’s got places to be.

Katya opens her eyes and her stomach flips.

Trixie is on her hands and knees, breasts loose and just begging to be cupped. Her face is mostly covered in curls, Katya can only see her defiant eyes burning through the strands.

Katya watches the mirror as Trixie presses back on the silicone. The two white globes of her ass look massive as they approach the mirror. Katya's eyes flicker desperately between Trixie's actual ass, and its mirror image. She can't stop thinking about what it would be like to have two Trixies, pressing their bodies together for her gratification. That definitely probably makes her a bad feminist. As Trixie takes in the last couple of inches of the toy her buttocks squash further out, taking up most of the glass. 

Trixie sucks her breath in sharply as her skin meets the cool glass. Katya is hypnotised. She keeps watching the mirror for the flashes of Trixie’s deep pink cunt between her white thighs. There are brief flashes of the even pinker toy too, its length shining with Trixie’s wetness.

Katya knows that she has slept with more women, and men, than Trixie. But Trixie has had long term partners that Katya has not. Women that she has almost lived with. Women that have flown all the way to Europe and back with Trixie, women that have thrown her surprise birthday parties. Women that have spent years honing their sexual praxis with Trixie. Katya’s jaw won’t close, her eyes are dry from staring. Her clit is throbbing. She knows she has to do something more soon.

Trixie is groaning from her chest. Every time she presses back, her eyes roll back in her head and she takes a shaky breath in. Katya pulls herself out of her thoughts and looks at Trixie’s face to try and guess what she wants. Katya draws a blank. Katya looks back at the mirror. It’s getting flecked and splattered with Trixie’s wetness. Katya’s lightheaded, her fingers feel weightless. She makes herself stalk over to Trixie’s drawer and grabs Trixie’s usual toy.

She crosses her bedroom again, watching herself. She appreciates her body, craggy and grizzled as it is, compared to Trixie’s plush youth. She likes the way her breasts sit a bit lower on her chest these days, but look a little rounder and more relaxed for it.

Trixie’s fingers are digging into the carpet, and she whines as Katya’s feet come to rest beside them.

Katya crowds her deliberately until Trixie is sitting back on her thighs, arching her back to keep the dildo inside her. Katya spreads her feet apart further, bending her knees to give Trixie a bit of assistance.

Trixie gets the point immediately, moaning into Katya’s cunt. Katya looks in the mirror and sees her own blown pupils, the sweat running down the side of her face. Her hand squeezes tight around the toy. It doesn’t take very long before Katya’s knees are too weak to keep them bent like she’s bending them. She looks down to where Trixie is still moving her hips back into the mirror. Katya can’t straighten up, and still have Trixie’s mouth on her, without Trixie pulling off the toy. She doesn’t want Trixie to have to do that.

Katya straightens her knees, adjusts her grip on the other dildo so she’s holding it at the base. Trixie whines at the loss of Katya’s cunt against her face. Her mouth is shiny and swollen and the sight of it gives Katya the shivers as she pushes the plastic between her lips. Trixie groans around it, and Katya keeps up the firm pressure on the base, forcing more into Trixie’s mouth until she makes a gurgling noise, tilts her chin up to try and open her throat. Katya pulls back. She watches Trixie’s watering eyes for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, she rocks the toy past Trixie’s teeth again. Katya needs to fuck Trixie. She can feel it tight across her shoulders and back. She pumps the plastic in and out of Trixie’s mouth, angling it up and back. Katya’s dripping. Trixie sucks deeply, but digs her teeth firmly into the toy at the base. 

Trixie has been sufficiently distracted by Katya fucking her mouth that her hips have stilled. Katya takes a step back.

“That doesn’t look like you fucking yourself properly to me. Go on, show me how you like it.”

Trixie starts bouncing back onto the dildo, thighs splayed between Katya’s feet. Her thrusts are forceful enough that the magnet holding the door shut releases, letting the door thump. On the bookshelf next to the closet there’s a wire stand weighed down by all of Trixie’s necklaces, and they start to rattle, joining the slam of the door, Trixie’s moans and Katya’s deep breaths in the dark of the bedroom. Suddenly there’s a sucking noise, a faint, dull thump, and a whine in close succession. 

“Ugh, it came unstuck.”

Trixie twists around to press the suction cup to the mirror, lining up with the round mark that’s already there. She kneels before it again, moving her knees further apart, flattening her hips, to try and get the toy at the right height for her.

It pops off the mirror again, flopping on the carpet.

“Close your fucking eyes, Katya. Ugh, it’s got one of my hairs stuck to it now.”

Katya keeps her eyes shut until she’s told to open them again. When she does, she is stunned anew by Trixie. She’s sitting back on her haunches, nostrils flared and chest flushed with arousal.

Katya takes one long, blonde curl, lets it slip through her loosely formed first.

“I love you,“ Katya says.

Trixie’s smile is instantaneous. She says, “I love you too. Now, are you going to finish me off, or am I?”

Katya smiles calmly. “Oh, I want to see how you would usually finish yourself off on a night where I'm stuck with Violet I’m listening to some white guy do a spoken word piece about how racism is probably a bad idea.”

Trixie snorts a laugh, moves her hand over and underneath her stomach to touch herself. Katya stands over Trixie, watching her as she continues to move back against the mirror. Katya holds her hand out, catching the little golden strands of Trixie’s hair as they brush past her fingers.

Trixie is unravelling now. She flops forward, catching herself on her hands. Her noises get higher and higher in pitch. The closet door bangs, her jewellery clatters. She folds her arms and lies her face against the carpet. Katya can feel Trixie’s hot breath on her ankle. By instinct, she raises her foot and plants it on the top of Trixie’s shoulder, keeping her low to the ground. Katya presses down, letting a little more of her weight rest on Trixie’s broad back. Trixie gives one shout, and finally comes, squashing her ass back against the mirror so hard that it takes up even more of the glass.

Katya falls to her knees, pulls a boneless and sweaty Trixie into her arms. The dildo stays fixed on the glass, jutting outwards, dripping on the carpet. It somehow looks more obscene than when Trixie was sliding her cunt up and down it. When Trixie’s heart has stopped thumping, she slides herself down Katya’s body and latches her mouth back onto Katya's pussy. It takes just minutes before Katya is wrapping her thighs around Trixie’s face and coming hard, vision blurring and wetness smearing over Trixie’s fat cheeks. 

Trixie claws her way up the side of the bed, laughing as she rolls herself from her belly on to her back. She leans over the side, holding her hand out to Katya. Katya lets Trixie pull her up, settles the sheets over them both.

“Jesus, Katya,“ Trixie wheezes, pressing Katya’s smaller body against her own. Katya wiggles down the bed so she can squash her head between Trixie’s breasts. 

Trixie strokes her hair, learns down to kiss it, “I don’t think I’ll ever fuck anyone else, if that’s okay with you.”

Katya snorts into Trixie’s cleavage with enough force that it makes a raspberry sound, and it sets Trixie’s giggling off again.

In the morning, Katya wakes with the urge to paint. She contents herself by doodling on the back of an on circular letter that she finds in Trixie’s wastepaper bin.

Trixie sleeps late, as usual. She’s worked every day for the last fortnight, but Katya knows that she would sleep in even if she never worked again. When she does wake, she cuddles Katya for a while, propping her phone up on Katya’s chest and squinting at it with one eye. When Trixie’s adjusted to full wakefulness, she offers to make coffee, and stumbles off towards the kitchen, returning with two hot cups and a narrow sheaf of mail under her arms.

Trixie opens the large white envelopes first. She makes little frustrated noises under her breath, and taps notes into her phone. She separates the letters from their envelopes and puts them in two stacks. Katya is always amazed at how meticulous Trixie is.

Trixie saves a powder blue, square envelope for last. Katya was only half watching before, more interested in shading in her drawing. But the envelope looks expensive, and her curiosity is piqued. Trixie slits open the envelope and casts it aside on the bedsheets. 

“Oh!” Trixie exclaims, her brow furrowed.

Katya can’t quite tell if it’s an _Oh!_ of a nice surprise, or shock. She asks, “What is it, Trixie?”

“I’ve been nominated for an award!” She cackles, “ _We Have Always Lived In The Castle_ has been nominated for Best Lighting Design at the inaugural Boston Theatre Professionals’ Award.” 

“Oh my God!” Katya springs from the bed, “That’s so cool!”

A fierce rush of pride washes over her. Trixie’s face is bare, messy curls framing her sparkling brown eyes. She’s brilliant. Her beautiful, brilliant woman.

“Oh shush,” Trixie yanks Katya back into bed by the wrist. She continues, “It’s just a made-up award. Local businesses chip in to sponsor it, people nominate their friends, the whole circus goes up on social media and everyone retweets each other. Everybody wins.”

“It’s still an award! Will you get a trophy? Can I fuck you with it?”

“Once a child gymnast, always a child gymnast. And no, you absolutely cannot fuck me with it. It’s a fucking cuboid. I’m only nominated, Boston Contemp won’t win anything. The big theatres will.”

Modesty is not usually Trixie’s thing. Katya is aware that there is probably a lot of truth in what she says, but she doesn’t miss the bashful pink sheen to Trixie’s cheeks, or the way she gropes under the sheets to find her phone and Bianca and Kim straight away.

Bianca offers to make a Trixie a dress. Katya ends up taking measurements for her, Trixie standing fully naked, with legs and arms spread. Katya kneels at Trixie’s feet and is rolling the tape up from her ankles to her waist. Then again from her hips to the floor. Then again from the nape of her neck back down to the floor. Bianca is exacting. She wants measurements of the circumference of Trixie’s wrists, and then from her wrists to her shoulder. She’s even sent Katya a little template for Katya to write the numbers in.

“Have you invited Violet, Katya?”

Katya prevaricates, “Um, yeah. She said to tell you _thank you_ , but she can’t make it.”

Katya loops the tape around Trixie’s neck, pulling it tight. She trusts Bianca to give Trixie some breathing room in the final product. Trixie locks eyes with Katya as the tape tightens. Her breathing quiets. Katya gives the tape an extra tug for effect, and feels it bounce as Trixie swallows against it. Trixie’s eyes are dark. 

“She needs to move whatever else she has scheduled. I know these types of awards are a bit of a sham, but if she wants to increase the quality and profile of your programming, she needs to get out there, and not just with the college kids.”

Katya sighs, she doesn’t want to get into it. She drops to her knees by Trixie’s feet again. She reaches up to brush her hands through Trixie’s pubes, first down and then against the grain to make her squirm.

“What’s she doing that night anyway?”

“Uh,” says Katya. She checks Bianca’s list to see what she needs to measure next.

“Kat?”

Fine, Katya thinks. Fine.

“She said it was a bit mainstream for her.”

“Did she?”

“Well, you know. The hotel conference centre. The live stream. The designated hashtag. It’s not very Violet, is it?”

She expects an outburst, but Trixie just rolls her eyes.

The dress comes by courier a week later. It arrives wrapped in brown paper, and feels heavier than Katya expected in her arms. Trixie won’t let Katya see it at all, squirrels it away to her bedroom and tries it on during a night Katya stays in her own apartment. She texts Katya that Bianca is, “A genius. A fucking genius.”

On the day of the awards Katya wakes feeling more nervous than she has in weeks. She has a flaky patch of psoriasis on the side of her nose, and she takes that as an omen of what the day has in store. She tells all of her classes where she’s going that evening, and their enthusiasm lifts her a little. She meets Violet in the café for a few final words of encouragement.

“Come on," Violet rolls her eyes, "It’s just a fucking circle jerk. Just hold her hand, don’t be weird, make sure she makes the most of the free champagne and make sure you bang her before she pukes.”

Katya mimes writing down Violet’s points in an imaginary notebook. Violet takes Katya’s hand, squeezes it tight.

“It’ll be fine, Katya. You’ve done this sort of thing before. Your first yoga class, opening the cinema, the first show we put on here. Just enjoy being proud of Trixie, it must be exciting for her. God knows why, but she’s the type to get excited about this sort of shit. You’re going to look so hot, and Trixie is going to be desperate to get you home. You’ll be serving high femme, hard fucking realness.”

Katya takes a deep breath, and feels the knot in her stomach begin to unravel.

Katya dresses at her own apartment. She eventually picks out a long black dress with a tiered skirt, each tier made of translucent fabric and getting narrower as they reach her ankles. Her sleeves are long and fluted, and the breast of the gown is embroidered with the outline of a bird.

She puts on so much foundation that she can barely see her pores, or the greenish discolouration under her eyes. She’s even managed to cover her patch of psoriasis. She goes for red lips as usual, selecting the orangey red that Trixie bought her for Christmas.

The subway is packed, and Katya feels the prickly heat of the eyes of others all over her. She runs her hand down her high ponytail and clutches her purse close to her chest. Her heart starts beating faster. A woman has brought a little dog on to the carriage and it sleeps peacefully in her lap. Katya fixes her eyes on the dog’s twitching ears. If it can sit quietly, so can Katya.

When she finally gets to Trixie’s apartment, Trixie collects her at the door in her dressing gown, a towel wrapped around her hair and twisted up into a turban. She bursts into laughter at Katya’s outfit. Katya’s breath catches in her throat, and she feels like she’s been kicked down the stairs.

“Sorry,” Trixie says, “you look beautiful – you really do. You always do. But are you a fucking psychic? Long sleeves, high neck! That silhouette! Wait until you see mine. Bianca has gone all out, feeling her Bob Mackie fantasy.”

Katya crosses her arms over her stomach. She knew she'd fuck it up, “Sorry, do you want me to change? Is it too similar to yours?”

Trixie immediately takes Katya's hands, “No, you look beautiful, Katya. We’ll just complement each other. I can’t wait, I'm sorry.”

Trixie kisses Katya on the cheek and disappears, shouting at Katya through the door that there’s iced tea in the refrigerator. 

Katya lounges on the sofa for a few minutes, texts back and forth with Violet. She’s not used to the dress restricting her movements. If she was wearing literally anything else, she’d be doing some stretches by now. 

“Did you remember to bring your business cards?” Trixie shouts from the bedroom.

“Yeah, of course,” Katya answers, making a face. She grabs a bit of paper and tears it into rough rectangles. She starts sketching some tiny self-portraits on each of them, making up little personas and stories to go with them. It takes the edge off her nerves.

Trixie re-emerges into the doorway. Her face is half in shadow, but Katya can see that her tall frame is gilded. Her body is a sheaf of wheat in the sun, a strand of honey falling from a spoon. The fabric swaddles Trixie from throat to the fine veins of her wrists. It hugs her hips and then tapers sharply. She’s a rusalochka, Katya thinks. A siren, here to pull anyone who watches her to shipwreck.

Trixie steps into the light, and Katya gasps at how her face seems lustred too. Her lips are nude, eyes outlined in the sort of rich, earthy tones she never usually wears. Against all this gold, her eyes are huge and dark, like a Coptic icon. There’s something new about her blush, too. Trixie knows she looks incredible, Katya can tell by the way she keeps her body still, letting Katya’s eyes drink her in while she smiles impassively down.

The dress is the most audacious garment Katya thinks she’s seen. It’s printed with peacock feathers, filled in with topaz and amber hues, and a soft blushing pink. Trixie’s hair is teased and backcombed at the top, and then pulled back into a loose twist of curls.

“God, you’re stunning,” breathes Katya while she circles Trixie. Trixie was right, Bianca is a diabolical genius. The dress clings to Trixie’s tits and ass perfectly. She wraps her hands around Trixie’s waist, which feels a lot harder than normal.

“Oh, don’t,” Trixie squirms away, “I’ve got the world’s most vicious Spanx on, worse than you can imagine. Bianca sent them with the dress.”

Katya rolls her eyes. She moves one of Trixie’s escaped curls and drops a light kiss on Trixie’s neck, before buffing out the mark she made with her thumb.

They finish getting ready, Trixie cycling through a few different shoe options before settling on some flat, pointed pumps that mean that she doesn’t tower over Katya too much. When she’s done, Trixie calls a cab, “I’ll pay, I’m just grateful you would come with me. It will probably be a snooze fest.”

Katya twists the long sleeve of her dress around her fingers.

“I’m sure I’ll enjoy it,” she lies. “Hey- I made some business cards.” Katya hands Trixie the paper rectangles she’s filled in, and Trixie shuffles through them.

“Trish Thompson, Junkie Hairdresser…Katya is that a cooking up spoon that also turns into a comb?”

Katya just laughs.

“Katya, this one is really scary. The one that says _Realtor, and Exorcist_. Can I keep one of these in my wallet? To remind me that I’m head over heels with a complete whack-job.”

"Well, it would be a useful service! What if you bought a haunted house and couldn't get to a priest in time! She sells you the house, gets rid of the ghosts. Bada bing bada boom."

Trixie picks up the _Realtor, and Exorcist_ card, strokes her finger over the pentagram that Katya has scribbled on the self-portrait. 

"Oh, I can't choose. I kind of want the Babushka one as well," Trixie tucks both into her wallet.

"You know I've got your little professional biography from the first show I came to see in mine?" 

"No, I didn't know that!" Trixie exclaims. "Maybe I should give you a little picture instead, just so everyone knows you're mine."

Katya asks,"Because I'm always flashing the inside of my wallet to everyone?" 

Trixie reasons, "Well, you're always rummaging around for loyalty cards when we get coffee, and I've seen at least three baristas give you the wink."

Katya rolls her eyes, and Trixie shuffles over to the window, peers outside at the dark, quiet street. Her movements are hampered by her dress, and Katya is sure that if she could, she would be pacing. 

"This taxi is taking ages," Trixie announces. She shuffles back over to Katya, muttering under her breath, "Zamo - zamolod - zamolodchik - lodchik," 

"Trixie, are you having some sort of episode? Why are you just saying bits of my surname?" 

"I'm practicing.”

Katya huffs, anxiety rising at the thought of awkward introductions, "It's actually quite simple, I don't know why Americans have such a problem with it."

"Well say Zhaagawaamikong, then. Or Midewiwin," Trixie says with a raised eyebrow.

"Okay, point taken. You usually get it right, just remember that it's a long o sound, and a silent I.”

Trixie gets a call from the cab driver, and they make their way downstairs.

The three of them are silent for the first part of the drive. Katya stares out of the window and thinks about all the ways she could mortify Trixie tonight, while Trixie massages over the thin bones in Katya's wrists.

"So, girls, are you two sisters?" The driver's voice comes through the speaker into the back of the cab. 

Trixie giggles, "I'm afraid not, no."

"It's not often I get two gorgeous natural blondes in my cab."

Trixie makes eye contact with Katya, widening her eyes to communicate, _oh, here we go_. She smirks, and Katya gets a sinking feeling in her stomach. 

"You two meeting your boyfriends at this hotel then?"

"Nope," says Trixie, popping the p. 

Katya wants to just put the man out of his misery. Watching Trixie is like watching a cat play with a mouse. Usually it's Katya that ends up leaning through the gap of the two front seats, putting her hands through to gesticulate. Ordinarily by now she'd be schooling their driver in why the presumption of a boyfriend can be considered offensive. Her scatter gun reasoning is usually effective at persuading and her manner enough of a 'harmless eccentric' to disarm all but the most aggressive.

Trixie reclines in her seat, sitting on her hip and flexing one arm along the back of the seat, running behind Katya's neck. Trixie cups her hand around the side of Katya's head, brings her head close to her and starts nibbling on her ear. 

There's a silence, and the driver speaks again, "Why?"

Trixie asks, "Why what?"

The driver laughs again, "Just why? I don't get it. Two beautiful girls like you."

"Why not?" Trixie's eyebrow quirks up. Katya's stomach suddenly feels like she's chugged a glass of gone-off milk. She thinks of all the things that could go wrong: He could say something that upsets Trixie and ruins her evening, when it should be special; he could throw them out of the taxi and they'll miss the awards and the rain will ruin Trixie's hair; he could kill them both horribly. 

"I just don't know why you need to muscle in, I guess. It seems like everything needs to change to fit in around you. Things used to be bad, granted, but the balance has swung too far the other way now," the driver says. 

"Well, with this idiot in charge, it seems like you might get a bit of a swing in your favour now," Trixie starts, she starts to sit up in her seat. 

The driver interrupts, "Ah, man, I don't want to start a fight now..." He makes eye contact with them in the mirror and shrugs.

Katya jumps in, "That's the thing, really, everyone is entitled to their own beliefs." Katya hates herself for trying to reassure him, not wanting him to think they are bad people. And she doesn't want him to think that he's a bad person either. She just wants them to be safe.

Trixie looks at Katya in surprise, but leans her weight on Katya when she slips her arm around Trixie's waist and strokes over the golden fabric stretched over her thighs.

They reach the venue, and Katya tips him the state-wide regular amount, while Trixie slams the door violently.

"What an asshole. I'm sorry Kat, I just wasn't in the mood for him."

Katya feels hot anger well up. Trixie knows how nervous Katya gets about nights like that these, and decided to make a fuss anyway. Katya watches the tail lights of the taxi turn into pin pricks and disappear into the distance. She tries to visualise her anger disappearing with the car, and takes Trixie's hand.

The venue is a corporate, downtown hotel. In the foyer there's a flimsy vinyl pull-up banner advertising the Boston Theatre Professionals’ Awards. The entrance to the main function room is flanked by two large pots filled with slivers of fabric being blown upwards, up-lit by dim orange lights to give the impression of towers of flame.

Trixie grabs a bit of the fabric in her fist, "God, this is tragic."

The room has been set out like a cheap wedding with circular tables covered in wrinkled table cloths. Trixie finds their table immediately, scanning the other seating cards on the table to see if she knows anyone. 

"Trixie! We're here!" 

Katya startles, turns to see a small group of people waving at them.

Trixie performatively shrieks with joy and starts wiggling towards them as fast as she can manage. 

She shouts across the room, "Irma! Pete! Emily! Hello! Isn't this amazing? What an amazing venue! You must come and meet Katya!" 

"Look at this dress!" the older of the two women exclaims, Katya assumes it must be Irma. She's got a neat, heart shaped face and dark bangs that stop about an inch above her eyebrows. She's dressed a lot more casually than Trixie or Katya, a simple cotton pinafore dress and a pair of dangly earrings. 

Irma cups her hands around Trixie's hips and Katya has to choke down an involuntary noise. She reminds herself that they've worked together for a long while, and Violet and Ginger touch Katya all the time. 

"You look absolutely breath-taking, Trixie. Who is the designer?" the man asks. 

Trixie replies, "Bianca Del Rio, she's a designer working in Chicago. We went to college together in Milwaukee."

He nods, "Bianca...Bianca, I know I've heard that name, but I don't think I've worked with her."

"You should, she's brilliant," Trixie grins broadly, then settles a hand on the small of Katya's back, "This is Katya, my partner." 

Irma turns and looks at Katya. Katya feels a keen intelligence behind her round, thick-rimmed frames. She reminds Katya of an old professor she'd had at art school, one she'd always hoped to impress. 

"Katya," she says, with a long ah sound, "You have the most incredible cheekbones!" 

Before Katya knows it, she has Irma's firm thumbs pressed on her cheekbones, "I've heard so much about you, but Trixie never said you were quite so striking!"

Katya's heart sinks, "Oh God, I hate to think what you've heard."

"I know you're very patient, a gorgeous artist, an exacting teacher, your parents taught at Harvard and that you're not a vegetarian.” Irma pouts exaggeratedly, “But also that you don't moan when she takes you to vegetarian places," Irma's eyes twinkle as she lists off what Katya assumes Trixie must consider Katya's most appealing attributes. 

Katya's eyes flicker over to Trixie, who is twisting the ring Katya bought her round and round her finger. She gives Trixie's wrist a quick squeeze. 

Irma asks, "So, did you see the show, Katya?" 

"I did, I loved it! Constance and Merricat were so good, and the way you staged the bit with the villagers storming that castle at the end was so suspenseful." 

Katya had genuinely enjoyed it. Her favourite part had actually been Trixie's melancholy and sinister lighting. The range of the lights on the stage had gradually got smaller and smaller until it ended on that final image of the roofless house, open to the elements. 

Irma smiles graciously but doesn't speak, just makes friendly eye contact with Katya. Katya casts around for something else to add. 

"I loved Merricat, she really resonated with me. She reminded me of one time my sister and I found this dead, half eaten animal in the street. Our parents helped us clean it up and we laid out all the bones end to end around the perimeters of our garden as far as they'd go. Then all the rest of that summer we would look for dead birds and rats in the park so we could finish the circle. We were convinced that we'd be invoking protective spirits. We never finished it though. She lost interest and my parents got fed up with me leaving the grisly bits in the kitchen sink."

Katya stops talking and catches Trixie's face of barely repressed laughter. Irma looks a bit taken aback for a moment and then bursts into laughter, Trixie joining her. Katya didn't intend that to be a funny story.  
Irma wipes under her eyes after she stops laughing, "Oh, Katya, Trixie did say you were a genuine kook. You're fantastic, you must come for dinner some time."

Katya hates that word, and all its synonyms. She forces herself to smile politely, agrees to be the dancing bear for Irma sometime soon. Trixie squeezes her hand tight and smiles brightly at her in return. 

Someone calls Irma's attention and she floats off, peppering Trixie and Katya with kisses as she goes. 

Soon, Trixie is deep in conversation with some of the other lighting designers present, and Katya hovers by her elbow, trying to nod in the right places but feeling more lost by the second. She tries not to say anything kooky. She squeezes Trixie's fingers, whispers in her ear that she's seen someone she knows and needs to say hi.

It's a lie. She hangs around the canapés and stares at the groups, all chatting animatedly. She can see Trixie from across the room, the most striking of women in the most beautiful dress. 

"That's a beautiful dress," a voice next to Katya murmurs.

"It's lovely," Katya breathes, "her best friend made it, bespoke."

"Her? Oh! No, I meant yours. I love the hem. It reminds me of a coral or something."

"Thank you! Thank you very much!" Katya turns and grins at the other woman. She's young and dark haired. Shorter than Katya or Trixie, with smooth skin under her eyes and a dimple in her chin. She's pretty, Katya thinks. 

"Are you an actor?" The girl asks.

"No, I, er, I came with my girlfriend. I work at the Boston Women's Art Centre."

"Oh yeah! My friend performs at that scratch night sometimes. They're a friend of, Christ, I've forgotten her name. It's like a Russian one or something."

"Violet Chachki. I think it’s either Polish, or Yiddish, by the way." Katya supplies. 

"Yes! That's her." 

"I couldn't do without Violet, she's just this fucking Erté liquid latex poodle devil bitch from hell, or heaven, who knows?" says Katya. 

"You someone important then?" Meghan asks.

"Not particularly important, no," Katya gives Meghan the slow bat of her eyelashes, the even slower reveal of her big white teeth. It's an expression that she often deploys on Trixie, has deployed on many women before her. 

Meghan giggles and steps a bit closer into Katya's space. "So, this is probably a bit up itself for you, yeah?"

Katya laughs, "I don't think this is anyone's thing. I think it's just one of those things people feel they have to say is a good idea, like open plan offices or organised religion."

The girl's eyes crinkle when she laughs, and she taps her fingers on Katya's wrist.

"You're real funny." She smiles and doesn't remove her fingers from Katya's wrist. 

"I'm Meghan. I'm an actor, I've not been nominated for anything though," Meghan laughs airily and rakes her hand through her hair. Her hair is thick and glossy and it takes a moment for the strands to fall back into place on her shoulders. Her breasts are pushed firmly together in her dress, and Katya's eyes flicker over them before she makes herself slide her gaze away from them. She sees Trixie's golden hair shining from across the room.

Meghan starts again, "Are you going anywhere later? Like, to party? I've messaged people to tell them to come here for a free drink before we bounce."  
Katya shrugs, "It depends on my girlfriend, I guess. It's her night, really."

Katya feels the need to say girlfriend again, just in case the girl missed it the first time. She has a strong feeling that the girl didn't miss it the first time. 

Meghan gives Katya a sidelong glance. "Well let me know if you change your mind."

Over the speakers, a voice invites people to take their seats for the beginning of the awards. Katya picks her way through the crowd. Trixie is already sat, talking to the other people allocated to their table. She hears Trixie say, “- yes, it's a small place but they have a tiny cinema and gallery as well as a theatre and cafe. And they do classes, groups stuff too. It's all very rooted in the community."

Katya feels warm all over at the thought of Trixie doing her best to promote Katya as well as herself. She thinks of Meghan's fingers on her wrist and acid works her way up her esophagus. She swallows it down, determines to do her best for them both for the rest of the evening. 

"Katya!" Trixie exclaims, turning to the woman next to her and pointing at Katya, "This is Katya! Katya, this is Shea. I was just telling Shea about you. Can you believe that Shea has also just moved here from Chicago? Boston is so small compared to home, you know? I was telling her about the cool places that I've found since I've been here." 

Trixie's face is so open, so earnest, that it makes Katya kind of want to die. 

The lights dim, and Trixie reaches to put her hand over Katya's knee. She wants to pick it up and take Trixie's fingers into her mouth, feel her knuckles with her tongue and teeth. 

The awards are a series of titles, names and faces that Katya doesn't know, apart from one girl that Katya thinks she might have known from school. Unlike the Oscars, they don't have a clip from every production nominated so Katya has limited ways to even guess whether _A Ring For Barbara_ or _Shot!_ has made better use of sound design. For Trixie she keeps a smile on her face the whole time, even when the sound on the microphones fades in and out and Trixie digs her nails into Katya's leg. 

Eventually, the award for best lighting design is announced. Trixie's grip on Katya's leg gets a little firmer. The presenter reads the list of nominations. Trixie's is first, and Katya spots a man on the table to their left nod to his companion. The presenter speaks uncomfortably slowly, and seems to rip the top of the envelope as tantalisingly as if he were rolling a stocking down a leg. 

"Best lighting design at the Boston Theatre Professionals’ Award is Trixie Mattel for _We Have Always Lived In The Castle_ at Boston Contemporary Theatre."

Trixie doesn't blink, doesn't gasp, doesn't cover her mouth in shock. She just smiles, and gets to her feet with regal efficiency. Trixie wiggles up to the lectern, hitching up the skirt of her dress a bit so she can make it up the step. Katya feels herself getting lost in how gorgeous Trixie looks, especially with the warm-white spotlight across her face. The presenter hands Trixie her award, a plain cube of glass with lettering etched into it. 

Trixie starts her speech with a loud explosion of screeching laughter. Katya wants to stand and applaud. 

Trixie composes herself a little, "I'd just like to express my enormous gratitude for this recognition of my craft. I'm really lucky to love what I do. Thank you to Irma for inviting me to come on this journey with you. Thank you to all of the Boston Contemporary team, including the stage management team. Lastly, thank you to everyone in Boston that has made me feel so at home."

There's the same polite round of applause for Trixie as there has been for everybody, but Katya can't help clapping as loud as she can until Trixie herself walks back to their table, catches Katya's hands and stops them moving. 

She leans in and whispers to Katya, "Was that okay? Did I sound like a total nerd?" 

"You sounded very sweet. Now kiss me." 

By now the room has moved on to listening to the nominees of the award for best make-up and hairstyling, and no one pays any attention at all when Trixie lightly presses her nude lips to Katya's bright red ones.  
Trixie draws back after a second or two, but returns to holding Katya's kneecap under the tablecloth. 

The rest of the awards are interminable. The only things keeping Katya awake are trading heated, secret smirks with Trixie, and watching Trixie fingering the etched lettering of her award. The last award is presented, and the lights are turned back up. Trixie wants to do another round of the room to say her goodbyes, and Katya excuses herself to go to the restroom. 

Katya swings the restroom door open into a group of laughing girls. Their heads snap towards Katya and they stop laughing for a split second as they all stare, before laughter bursts out again. Katya feels as unsettled, as out of place, as she used to feel in the corridors at school. She's about to apologise and retreat out of the bathroom when a girl hidden at the back of the group calls her name.

"Katya! Come here! We're going to get ready to _roll_ into town," Meghan winks goofily at Katya and Katya notices how wide her pupils are, how her fingers reach for the material of Katya's sleeves and work it between her fingers.

"I hope you have a lovely night, girls, but I'm not going to nick your stash. Thanks though."

Katya remembers nights like these, tumbling from private view to private view to a live installation in some squat somewhere. They'd all been pumped up on drugs, yes, but also art, and possibilities, and making connections, and a growing awareness of their own gifts.

Meghan pulls on Katya's sleeve, "It's only Molly, we've got loads. Finn - " She turns to the person nearest her elbow, "Katya knows Violet."

"Cool," they nod with the full-bodied movement that seems to indicate a youthful, masculine loucheness. "Violet's awesome."

Katya nods back, "she's the fucking Ace of Swords in my tarot deck, man."

Katya wishes she could stride past them, but she can't properly flex her knees in her dress. She makes her way into the cubicle and twists her arms behind her neck to undo the zip, manages to do it without bashing her arms on the sides of the cubicles. Her piss won't come. She feels like she's in school again; day dreaming on the toilet to pass away the lonely lunchtimes, her sisters too busy with their own friends to come and find her. Eventually, she manages to relieve her bladder in a long, narrow trickle. Outside the cubicle, Meghan and her friends talk about where they could head later. There are several clubs that Katya can't place, some she knows only as "where Sigma used to be" or "the place where Monkey was." She squeezes past them, rinsing her hands and heading to the door. 

"Bye, Katya," Meghan's voice rings out. 

She raises her hand in reply, "Have a good night." 

Trixie is waiting outside, checking her phone on a chair while the staff clear empty bottles and stained, crumpled napkins from the tables. Her little glass award is on the table, her clutch bag propped against it.  
"You ready, babe?" Trixie says, without fully looking up from her phone. Katya is suddenly full of relief to see her. Trixie's dress is too slippery. Katya wants to take it off and press herself against Trixie's soft skin instead. 

Katya's definitely ready, "Yeah, let's fuck off home."

Trixie insists they stop at a McDonalds before they make their way back to her apartment.

They don't have to walk further than a couple of blocks to reach one, and as they shuffle in and up to the counter, every head swivels towards them. Trixie seems not to notice, orders a veggie burger with cheese and some extra cheese dippers. Katya looks up at the illuminated board and can't make any sense of it, ends up just choosing fries and a sparkling water. 

"Katya, Katya, take a picture of me for Bianca in her couture. I want it to be high fashion!"

Trixie drapes herself over the yellow plastic trashcan, bends her arm outwards at the elbow and loosely holds her burger in her hands. She stares moodily into the distance. The trashcan clashes horribly with her dress, and someone has left ketchup smeared down the front of it. It looks, improbably, like a magazine shot. 

Trixie suggests, "Okay, come on, let's do another one,"

Katya sees a group of teenagers gossiping amongst themselves about Trixie, darting little looks at her and sniggering behind their hands. Two burly men wearing fluorescent jackets keep staring at them, frowning slightly, then going back to mashing their fries into great pools of ketchup. 

Trixie can't be drunk, not off three glasses of free prosecco, but she's exuberant and obnoxious, and Katya finds it infectious. Katya thinks of the asshole in the taxi, and the stupid college kids in the restroom. Fuck it, Katya thinks, she wants to have some fun. 

She puts on her best Russian accent. "Alright my darling, I need you to give me 18 year old Mormon bride. Married to narcissistic millionaire."

Trixie puts her burger on Katya's tray, gives Katya's phone a dead eyed stare, and holds the award in front of her with both hands, arms straight and locked. Katya can see the side of Trixie's mouth pulling, she's going to lose it imminently. 

Katya rolls her Rs as much as she can, "Perfect, perfect! This time I want sexy. Get on the trashcan." 

"On the trashcan?" Trixie asks, sounding less sure.

Katya's accent slips as she laughs at Trixie's indignant face, she recovers it as fast as she can. "Yeah on the trashcan. Lie back over it."

Trixie follows Katya's instructions and then turns on her side. The curve of Trixie's hip is ridiculous, and Katya can see her working her core to push it up further. Good girl, Katya thinks. Trixie grabs her burger and bites aggressively into it. She drums her feet on the side of the plastic as Katya plays with the settings on her phone camera. 

"Come on, more! Sexy! Sexy!" Katya shouts, capturing Trixie's gherkin falling in mid-air. Trixie pulls her hair out of her bun and shakes her curls down. One of the flouro-jacketed men coughs into his McFlurry. Katya laughs with her mouth open so wide she thinks the other patrons of McDonald's must be able to see her every tooth. She needs to run in a small circle to burn off her energy. 

"Gorgeous, yes! Give me more! Give me sexy, and stupid - and sociopathic!" Katya's cackling at Trixie and Trixie's arching her back and snarling. Her curls are spilling down the side of the trashcan and Katya's sure something sticky and smelly is going to get stuck in them soon. 

"Right, I'm done. Need to see if I can eat all this without my Spanx making me regurgitate it immediately."

Trixie pushes herself down from the trashcan and squashes herself in the little plastic booth next to Katya, finishes her cheese dippers while Katya selects the best photos to send to Bianca. The fries were a mistake, she doesn't much want them. She tilts the bag towards Trixie, knowing she will finish them off for her. 

While Katya is looking at her phone, Trixie manages to sneak her own phone out of her clutch bag and take a picture of Katya. Trixie makes a pleased humming noise and then turns it, so Katya can see. Katya instantly focuses on her widow's peak, how big her nose is, the crinkles around her eyes.

"I'm keeping this one forever, you look so hot." Trixie grins at her, holding a clump of fries by their ends and then biting them all at once.

Katya revaluates the picture. She likes the way her green eyes stand out against her maroon eye-shadow, the neckline of her dress is elegant, her hair looks tantalisingly disheveled.

As they finish, Trixie summons a taxi through an app on her phone. Thankfully, this driver keeps himself to himself. He's got an audio book playing, some old-fashioned English detective thing that Katya doesn't recognise. Trixie leans across the back seat and kisses her. At first, Katya's ears pick out odd words and phrases, but as Trixie starts to clamber into Katya's lap, they fade more and more into the background.  
Soon, Trixie's whole body is draped across Katya's lap, their mouths melded together. Trixie has her fists wrapped around Katya's hair and every so often she tugs sharply. The material of her dress is slippery as she writhes against Katya. She's a rusalochka, Katya thinks. 

Trixie pulls away for a second, panting and flushed. "Sorry," she breathes, "winning makes me horny."

Katya twists in her seat so Trixie can lean her back against Katya. She pulls Katya's hands around her body and pushes them down so they're over her pussy. She rocks her hips up into Katya's hand rhythmically, tilts her head up to kiss Katya's jaw. Over the speakers, the detective is still searching for leads, investigating a suspicious happening at the vicarage. 

When they get inside Trixie's flat, Trixie sets her award on the sideboard where she keeps her favourite Barbies, and flops down on the sofa.

"In a minute," she tells Katya, "I'm going to be the life and soul of the party."

Katya snorts, sits down next to her and rearranges them so Trixie is sitting like she was in the taxi. 

Trixie flicks the TV on and, seeing _Cabaret_ is showing on one of those late-night film channels, settles back into Katya. Soon enough, Katya feels Trixie's body get heavier and heavier against her. Her eyes are closed, lips slightly parted. 

"Trixie, Trixie," Katya whispers, "it's time to go to bed."

"Carry me?" Trixie whines.

"No, love, I can't carry you."

Trixie pleads, "Come on, you've got that wiry yoga bod. Give it a go!" 

Katya chuckles, "I'm not putting my back out for you, get up."

Trixie grunts, but obediently gets to her feet. Katya leads her by the hand to the bedroom and unzips the back of her dress for her. When Trixie steps out of it, Katya carefully lays it on the chair next to Trixie's dressing table, and Trixie starts rolling her Spanx down. It seems to be a lengthy process, and Katya is dismayed by the red marks it leaves across her stomach as it swells back to its usual shape. Katya immediately bends to kiss the angry lines criss-crossing Trixie's tender skin.

They roll into bed, and Trixie lets Katya snuggle in behind her. She’s quiet for a few minutes and Katya is glad of it, staring at the wall in the dark.

“Katya?” Trixie’s voice is small.

“Yes?” Katya rubs her thumb over Trixie’s hip.

Trixie waits a minute or so before replying, “Are you proud of me? Did I do good?” 

Katya grimaces into Trixie’s hair. She wishes she could unlock her jaw and tell Trixie how she feels. Her is so tense, surely it will snap if she forces it open. Her head swarms with words and she can’t think straight.

“I’m very proud, Trix. You did so well. You’re so good.”

Trixie seems to fold in on herself. Katya feels the back of Trixie’s knees peel away from Katya’s kneecaps like tectonic plates. There’s a couple of choked off breaths followed by an unmistakable whimper into the pillow.

“Hey, hey,” Katya says soothingly as Trixie snuffles. “Trixie, hey,” She slips her hands away from their usual places around Trixie’s breasts and squeezes her hard around the middle instead. 

“Trixie,” Katya whispers into her back, unsure where she’s going with this, “I can’t tell you how much I adore you. Before you, my life was all about maintenance, and maintenance was all about routine, repetition and fucking touching my lucky brick on my way into work. You’re so brilliant, the way you stomp and take up space and carry that pink toolbox and tap-dance in the street, and tell people how you feel,” Katya can’t shut herself up now she’s started, “You take such pride in what you do, and you make me want to do the same. No one has ever, ever made me feel as loved and as seen as you do. And honestly fuck anyone who thinks you are anything less than - less than…” Katya finally runs out of steam, face hot in the dark, “anything less than the fucking wonder that you are.”

Katya feels hot tears prickle in her own eyes. She squeezes them shut to stop them from falling.

“I’m just being silly,” Trixie sniffles, “I tell myself all the time that I’m proud of myself, that I deserve everything I’ve worked for and that I’m not a fraud. But sometimes you need to hear it from someone else. It’s stupid really, I should know how to stand on my own two feet by now.”

Katya kisses the back of her head. "It's not that simple," she breathes. 

Trixie draws a shaky breath to speak again. “For the record, no one has ever made me feel as loved or as seen as you, either. The way you look at me sometimes, Kat. The way you look at me—” Trixie’s voice breaks. She tries again, “You remember the day we went to the esplanade and I took a book, Americanah, and you got cold? And you went for a jog to buy yourself a scarf?”

“Yeah,” says Katya.

“I honestly think that was one of the happiest days that I can remember,” Trixie whispers.

Katya squeezes Trixie hard.

“Can we put a podcast on? I still feel too wired to sleep,” says Trixie.

“Sure, which?”

“There’s a Broadway themed one called _Notes From The Stalls_ that I like.” Trixie’s voice sounds a bit less reedy now, a bit more in control of herself.

Katya finds it and presses play on her phone.

“Hi! This is Alexis Michelle and Jinkx with an X!”

Two cheerful voices fill the room, one with a strong New York accent and the other with a breathy, dreamy quality that Katya imagines could lull you to sleep very effectively.

“So today we’re talking about Kevin Spacey, and whether theatre has as much of a problem of sexual—” 

Trixie groans and seems to shrink down into the mattress. “Not that. Not now, not today. Put another one on.”

Katya selects the next episode.

“This is Jinkx with an X and—” 

“Aleeeeeeeeexissss!”

“Hello! Yes, hello”

“Today we’re talking about nostalgia.”

“Ooh!”

“Ooh indeed. So, to what extent does nostalgia play a part in what audiences are buying tickets for? And is the effect more evident in times of strife and unrest? Jinkx, what do you think?”

“Well, there’s famously _Wicked_ , which retells the _Wizard of Oz_ -”

“But is it nostalgic though? Because _Wicked_ actually challenges what we already know? It doesn’t allow us to simply return to that childish place. Look at the lyrics of _No One Mourns The Wicked._ ”

“But the characters, the aesthetic...”

“Yes, yes, and what about _Hamilton_? Does its success reflect a hankering for the days when America was new, had more direction? Are we lost, as a nation?”

“I see _Hamilton_ as more a call to arms.”

Katya is already in over her head, but Trixie is taking deeper breaths now. Katya forces herself to stay awake until she knows that Trixie is fully asleep.

She lets the voices wash over her.

“No, I think audiences are just as likely to selectively forget problematic parts of history to experience nostalgia. Look at _The Crown._ ”

“Colonialism.”

“Colonialism, right.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to get the final chapter up on my birthday but I missed it by a couple of days! 
> 
> This final chapter takes place in May 2018.

Katya checks her mirrors, indicates and then pulls out in front of a large, red SUV that Trixie scoffs at. Trixie’s car is flooded with the spring sun and Katya’s knuckles feel pleasantly warm where they wrap around the steering wheel. 

“You could have gone before that black Ford,” Trixie deadpans. Trixie’s got childish, heart-shaped sunglasses on and is drinking a frozen margarita from a plastic cup, with her feet up on the dash. It’s Katya’s birthday, and no part of this is fair. 

“I wouldn’t have had time! It wasn’t safe,” Katya reasons with Trixie, using her slow yoga voice to make her point clear.

“There was totally time," Trixie answers back. Even behind the mirrored surface of her sunglasses, Katya can tell Trixie is rolling her eyes. Trixie continues, “If you want to drive like a pensioner, that’s your look out.”

For the most part, Katya has been enjoying learning to drive. Her drug-blasted memory lets her down occasionally and sometimes her own interpretation of the road signs is different to the official meaning, but she’s surprised herself with what a calm and patient driver she can be. 

Trixie selects the Bluetooth option on the screen on her dash and grabs her phone, filling her car with _Why'd You Come in Here Lookin' Like That._ Trixie slaps out the beat on her thighs and it makes Katya’s teeth itch. Trixie knows she hates this type of music.

“Trixie, I’m this close to making you get out of the car,” Katya threatens.

Trixie smirks, “I’m not getting out of _my_ car.”

Katya doesn’t really like taking her eyes off the road all that much, but she sneaks a glance at Trixie and says, “I can make you,” darkly.

Katya indulging herself in a mini-daydream about pulling over, popping Trixie’s seatbelt open, tugging her from the car, twisting her around and pushing her face-down against the hood to issue a series of sharp, fast slaps to her ass. And if there are people are around to see, maybe that will make Trixie's lesson sink in faster.

“You really can’t though,” Trixie sing-songs at her. “It’s my car and you’ve only got a Learner’s Permit. This is your supervised driving time with a licensed driver aged 21 years or older,” She bites on the edge of her fingernail at Katya like she's won. 

“Why are you ruining my birthday, Trixie?” Katya says, going straight for the low-blow.

She's exaggerating. Katya doesn’t really care for her birthday. She’s had thirty-five of them prior to today, but Trixie has been getting excited about Katya's birthday for weeks. Even Bianca and Kim have text Katya happy birthday, no doubt reminded to by Trixie. Katya isn't above using emotional manipulation to get her point across. 

Trixie sulkily unfolds her legs from the dash and plants them on the floor of her car. She swipes her phone a few times and the music in the car changes. There’s a familiar droning noise followed by a thumping synth beat, and a soaring vocal, “I can sense it, something important is about to happen, it's coming up, it takes courage to enjoy it…”

“Nice choice,” Katya nods to Trixie, keeps her eyes firmly on the upcoming intersection. 

“You’re welcome, birthday girl,” Trixie, cheered up by Katya's approval. 

After the lights, the traffic eases and before long they’re crossing Columbus Avenue, soaring down Centre Street and across the rotary so Katya can drive by the Arboretum and look at the new growth on the trees.

“You need to take the first exit here, remember to cancel your signal,” Trixie instructs. 

Katya hums, and does as Trixie says. 

“Well done Katya! That was really smooth!” Trixie’s voice is sickly sweet. 

“Didn’t you once tell me you were offered a Professorship in the Theatre Studies department at your alma mater? And Bianca told you not to take it?” Katya says lightly. 

“Yeah...?”

“Bianca was right.”

Trixie scream-laughs, “I was only trying to be encouraging, you cunt!”

Trixie’s attention is taken by the light shining through the thick foliage at the Arboretum, shadows of the leaves dappling the inside of the car. It must be nice for her to be able to take more notice of the scenery while Katya drives. Usually Katya spends most of her time as a passenger looking out the window and daydreaming about drawing what she sees.

“So, when are you opening my presents then?” Trixie asks.

Katya screws her nose up, “Later. They are my reward for getting through a driving lesson and a family dinner.”

Katya is driving within spitting distance of her old apartment. She wants to do a loop of the block out of nostalgia, but they really need to get home and changed before her parents and sisters arrive. 

Their new apartment is a little further out in JP. It’s a ground floor apartment, and although they have to put up with noise from the apartment above, they now have a wooden porch to sit out on. Trixie has already bought several terracotta pots, spray painted them pastel pink and filled them with easy, springtime flowers. She has carefully arranged them on the porch steps, grouping the biggest pots on the top step and then arranging them until there's just a tiny pot with a single crocus in it on the bottom step. 

Trixie has made a list of non-alcoholic cocktails to make by the jug, and she’s told Katya that she wants to spend all of summer together drinking them on the porch. There’s enough room for a few people to sit on the steps. Katya imagines warm afternoons with Violet and Ginger, or even Bianca and Kim when they finally have time to visit. When they first moved in to the apartment, their neighbours came around to say that in August they have a mini-art festival on the street where they all hang paintings out on the porches. Trixie had hastily promised that Katya would make something to hang outside. Although initially Katya was pissed to be volunteered in this way, she's had some ideas about which of her works would look good hung on the porch. 

Katya hates parking. She’s tempted to ask Trixie to take over, but she forces herself to concentrate and remember the steps that Trixie has taken her through many times. She does something wrong and the car jerks. Trixie reflexively puts her hand out to catch herself on the dash.

“Fuck!” Trixie yelps, “Katya, don’t do that.”

“Well, it wasn’t what I was fucking trying to do, was it?” Katya snaps back.

She curses herself for not doing it right, for putting Trixie in danger, for not being able to do what every normal person was able to do at sixteen. She clenches her eyes shut, tries to block out the world.

Trixie’s hand wraps over hers on the shift, “I’m sorry. Keep going. You’re doing really well.”

Trixie soothes and distracts Katya with stories of her own driving lessons as Katya maneuvers the car outside their apartment. Trixie learnt with her grandfather on wild roads. Most of her stories seem to involve barreling down a track for miles, then breaking suddenly to avoid flattening some rare forest creature.

Eventually, Katya’s satisfied with her parking. She hands Trixie’s car-keys back to her as they walk up the porch steps. As they unlock the door, Katya remembers that Trixie has been cleaning on and off all weekend. Trixie has even polished up the brass model of St Basil’s that used to live in Katya’s box of junk in her old apartment and is now placed on top of their television. Katya’s small crop of birthday cards are all propped up on the windowsill, and Trixie quickly lights a vanilla chai candle in the hallway.

Trixie tuts when Katya abandons her boots on their sides in the kitchen, and she slams the cupboard door louder than she needs to when Katya reaches to bring out her bag of various herbal teas.

“What’s eating you?” Katya asks.

“Nothing.”

“Is it my driving?”

“No, Katya. You’re coming on really well.”

“Is it that we’re not going to a veggie place?”

“No, you eat meat around me all the time.”

“Is it that I won’t open my birthday present until we get back?”

“No. For heaven’s sake Katya, just drop it. I need to fucking get ready. I need to organise the coat rack.”

“You don’t need to organise the coat rack. It’s 66 degrees. No one will have a coat. Mom or Uliana might have a light jacket, that’s all. Aliona’s always warm.”

Trixie stares furiously at the fridge.

Katya starts rubbing her palms together. Suddenly she’s got more energy than she wants. She needs to know what's getting at Trixie, she can't let it drop.

“Come on, Trixie,” she starts, “Please just say. I’ve got enough to think about. What if I say my order incorrectly? What if people argue? What if they give our table away to other people? Or if the food isn’t good, and everyone knows but no-one says? Or the bill is wrong, and I have to tell them?”

Her breath is coming shorter now, and she fights to relax her chest.

“Oh for—” Trixie starts tossing her car keys from one hand to the other. “That will all be fine. I’m always happy to take over and argue the bill for you. It’s not that. It’s just that – It’s just that I wasn’t born to go to dinner with Harvard professors, and,” Trixie takes a deep breath, “Well, you know. With family things…I text Violet about it yesterday. She gets it. I'm sorry,” Trixie stops. Her jaw is set. 

Katya feels like an idiot. She can’t think what to say so she just kisses Trixie, until Trixie moves away with a smile that looks a little more self-assured.

They move to get ready, Katya in the bathroom and Trixie in their bedroom. Katya buffs out her foundation with the little sponge Trixie bought her, and runs a fluffy blusher brush over her cheeks. She has quickly become obsessed with doing her make up in Trixie’s illuminated mirror, and Trixie has resigned herself to buying a second one for herself to use at her desk. Katya blends her black eye shadow out from her crease, thinking of all the topics that she’s excited to talk about with her sisters. She’s going to go over the centre of her lid in Trixie’s glittery gold shade, it makes her eyes look really bright. .

Trixie’s head appears around the door-frame. She’s already immaculately made up, holding two near-identical yellow cotton sundresses in her hands.

“Oh—” Trixie stops, “You look real pretty. I’m not sure what to wear.”

Trixie moves her body around the doorway but lingers shyly, one leg crossed behind the other. She’s wearing a turquoise satin bra with matching panties, and Katya doesn’t hide the fact that she’s looking at Trixie’s cleavage. 

“You could just wear that? As a birthday treat for me?” Katya suggests hopefully.

Trixie runs her hand down the length of her body and giggles, but once her hand reaches her hip she lets it flop awkwardly by her side. She looks anxious again.

“Sorry. I'm trying to relax but it's just - . Can you tell me about your sisters again please?” Trixie asks, furrowing her brow.

“Sure,” Katya answers, “Uliana’s the eldest. She’s the architect. She had her own firm in Hong Kong, but she’s divorcing her husband and moving back to Boston. She’s going to join the Department of Architecture at MIT, so that’s quite funny.”

“Hilarious!” exclaims Trixie, rolling her eyes. “When you’ve always been a Harvard family and your eldest ends up teaching at MIT. So fucking relateable.”

“Aliona is younger than me. She’s the same age as you, so I thought you might want to sit together. She works in marketing of some description, but she’s just come back from a sabbatical year.” 

“Thanks for sitting us together. And will the children's table be allowed to use metal cutlery like the grown-ups? Or only plastic?” Trixie’s voice is acidic.

“Oh, shut up. You know what I mean. Aliona’s fun, she’s really good at getting people to warm up to her. On her year off she went travelling in Europe, so you can always ask her about that.”

Trixie nods and moves a little nearer Katya. Her feet turn pigeon-toed on the bathroom mat. 

“Look, Katya. I’m really sorry that I’ve dragged down the birthday mood with my _Harry Potter and The Cupboard Under the Stairs_ shit,” Trixie folds her arm under her breasts protectively and fiddles a bit with the under-wiring of her bra.

Katya plunks herself down on the toilet seat. She says, “Honestly, it’s fine. You haven’t dragged down any mood! Sorry for my family being, er, Weasley-ish.”

Trixie snorts, “Please. At least if you were the Weasleys then I could relate to you being dirt poor. You’re like a nice version of the Malfoys.”

Katya laughs outright. She stage-whispers, “One of my guiltiest secrets is that I once wrote Bellatrix and Narcissa incest femmeslash and got myself off to it.”

“Just so you know, I can barely believe it but I actually prefer the ‘oh yeah, I used to sleep with my dealer but actually he was a really nice guy’ stories,” says Trixie, wrinkling her nose.

Katya guffaws. She can’t help but love Trixie’s disgusting jokes, and she loves how much they tickle Trixie even more. 

Trixie looks thoughtful, “I don’t know how else to get the celebratory vibe going. I could put some Spice Girls on?” Her voice lilts up at the end like she’s hoping Katya will agree. 

“You could do that, I suppose…” Katya nods seriously, “You could also eat me out in the, uh, thirty minutes before my parents arrive?” 

“Yeah, yeah I could,” Trixie smiles mischievously and starts pulling Katya through the apartment and into the living room. They’re bumping into the door frames, giggling like kids. Trixie pushes Katya down onto their couch exuberantly. Katya lets herself fall with her legs bent outwards, thighs splaying wide. Trixie hooks her fingers into the sides of Katya's thong, pulling it down as far as she can.

She bites her way over Katya’s mons and sinks further down, sucking firmly over Katya’s clit. Katya lets her eyes flutter closed and her head tilt back. She stuffs her fingers down the sides of the couch cushions, so that she doesn’t mess up Trixie’s hair. 

It only takes fifteen minutes to get Katya off, but by the time she comes, Trixie’s make up is ruined. The shimmery line down the middle of her nose has rubbed away, and the sharp contour of her cheek is smudged. Katya kisses the come off her cheeks and under the sharp tang there's a faint scent of perfume. 

“I’m sorry,” Katya slurs, “You’re going to need to re-do your face a bit.” 

Trixie slaps Katya’s thigh and it sends another little flurry of aftershocks through her pussy. 

“You bitch! I looked perfect. Right, I’m going to fix my face again.”

Katya feels too mellow to point out that Trixie was enthusiastically rubbing her face in Katya. Katya hauls herself to her feet and off to their bedroom to dress. She chooses a dark green dress with an embroidered denim shirt over the top, and an acrylic evil eye necklace that her sister bought her a few birthdays ago. 

As she laces up her boots, Trixie rushes around behind her. Trixie sponges on more foundation on the ball of her nose and pats it down so hard that her nose squashes almost completely flat. When she’s satisfied, she grabs a tiny brush and strokes her highlight down the bridge of her nose again. She tries to go over her cheek contour but keeps muttering under her breath that it’s not lining up right. 

The doorbell goes and Trixie shouts, “Fuck!” She’s pressing powder on to her chin, still in her bra. 

“I’ll go, it’s fine,” Katya says.

“But I wanted to greet your parents,” Trixie whines, "They'll think I'm rude."

“It’s fine, just come out when you’re ready.”

She sees her parents though the glass panel on the door and lets them in. 

“Happy birthday!” Her Mom shouts, brandishing a large green gift bag at Katya and then grabbing her cheek for a kiss. 

Her Dad stands behind her mom, looking tall and looming in the narrow hallway.

“Happy birthday, Yekaterina. 36, I can’t believe it,” He shakes his head and squeezes past her Mom to give Katya a one-armed hug.

“Come in, sit down. Trixie is just finishing getting ready,” Katya gestures to their small two-seater couch and sits herself on the edge of their new wooden dining table. 

Her parents sit almost comically straight on the couch, her Mom keeps her bag on her knees.

"It's a lovely place, Katya. Is that Trixie's guitar?"

Her Mom points to their low, mid-century sideboard against which Trixie's guitar leans. They'd seen the sideboard in a thrift shop and both fallen in love with its pointed, splayed legs and sliding doors. It was the first piece of joint furniture they had bought, and Trixie had selected her favourite dolls for display at equidistant intervals on the top.

"Yeah, I had a go with it the other day. I'm still no better than I was in high school," Katya answers.

"I always quite liked hearing you play around the place. Hrm, perhaps your real gifts are elsewhere," her mother says kindly.

"Are these yours, Yekaterina?" Her father says, thumbing the cover of _The Skilled Helper_ by Egan. He's poking through a pile of the textbooks she's been using for her course at Community College.

"Yeah, they're on the reading list, we're looking at -" 

Trixie comes thumping down the hallway at full speed and stops abruptly in the doorway.

"Hello!" Trixie pants, "Sorry I'm late. It's really good to see you again!"

Trixie crosses the lounge in two long strides and shakes Katya's parents' hands. She’s only met them twice, once in Katya’s apartment and once when she drove Katya to meet them. This is the first time Trixie’s met them in her own space. In their joint space.

There's a slight disconnect where Trixie's old bronzer and new bronzer haven't been buffed out fully. Katya watches her mom's sharp eyes travel over Trixie's face and Katya swears there's a twinkle in her eye as she looks over Trixie's slightly mismatched cheeks.

"Wonderful to see you too, Trixie. It's a lovely apartment,"

"Thank you!" says Trixie, shaking a crease out of the curtains.

Katya's father asks "It's smaller than your place before, Yekaterina. Isn't it?" 

Katya looks around the corners of the room, as if assessing for the first time. She isn't sure what the right answer is. 

"Yes," Trixie jumps in, "And it's a bit further out of the centre. But we're saving a considerable amount on our outgoings."

Two months ago, Trixie had sat Katya down and shown her the spreadsheet. She'd made a tab for their earnings and a tab for outgoings, and then shown Katya their projected savings. They're going to reach their savings target 30% earlier than if they lived separately, Katya has been informed. Trixie tells Katya's parents the same figures, and Katya can tell they are quietly impressed, even though they usually hate talking about money. As she predicted, Katya's mom tries to change the subject of the conversation to the pictures Trixie's hung on the wall, and the modern light fixtures she's installed. Katya's parents must think she's useless, that she's been waiting all this time for a woman to come and take care of her. 

"Hey, Mom, did you see the that the handrail on the porch is newer than the rest? There was a bit of rot on it, so I replaced it," Katya interrupts. 

Trixie senses the sulkiness in Katya's voice and adds, "And Kat sanded and repainted the whole thing, so it matched up."

Katya's parents nod appreciatively. Katya knows they like Trixie, even if her dad mutters something about Katya already being a nickname and therefore not needing any further abbreviation. 

Aliona texts to say that Uliana is parking and Katya goes to watch for them from the kitchen window. Trixie is talking merrily to Katya's parents about her job. Uliana's car is new, but Katya knows her older sister instantly by the shape of her ears, the cock of her neck. Uliana is frowning in concentration as she checks her wing mirrors. Aliona is laughing, big teeth flashing, as she gesticulates. She grinds her pointer finger into the dash, obviously illustrating some point in a story. Katya feels a bubble of excitement work its way up her stomach. She hasn't seen either of them in over a year, and she suddenly badly wants to hold them both.

Aliona is bright and animated. Her hair is naturally darker than either of her sisters and she's given it a red-tinted dye that warms her pale skin. Uliana has the sort of sharp, sheared haircut that Katya wishes she could emulate. Her coat hangs off her shoulders with carefully sculpted grace. She wears thick tortoiseshell glasses, and her skin has developed a little crease between her eyes that Katya is sure wasn't there before. It looks distinguished, Katya thinks to herself.

Katya meets them at the door and Aliona squashes Katya in her arms as hard as she can, screaming into her ear. When she finally steps back, Uliana swoops in for a gentler, quieter hug.

With all six of them in the living room, the apartment suddenly feels too cramped. Trixie is formal and reserved as she's introduced to Katya's sisters, holding out her hand for them to shake. 

“Your hair is so pretty,” gushes Aliona. “I’ve only actually seen, like, two pictures of you. It’s so great to meet you in person.”

Trixie smiles a bit awkwardly, “You’ve only just come home, haven’t you? Katya said you were looking at apartments.”

“Yeah,” Aliona sighs, “It’s been so tough. Everywhere is so expensive now. It’s really hard to get somewhere with decent outside space and reserved parking spaces.”

“That does sound really challenging,” says Trixie flatly.

Uliana cuts in, “So, Trixie, Katya tells me that you’ve been working at Boston Contemporary? That’s a very interesting building. I met the architect once and he said that at the time it was pretty controversial.”

Trixie makes a dismissive noise, “It doesn’t seem like it was made with theatre makers in mind. The fly tower is tiny, for one thing.”

Uliana looks thoughtful as she says, “It was one of the first fairly large theatre in New England to really think about using sustainable energy sources.”

“Oh wow,” says Trixie sardonically. 

Katya's mom checks her watch and suggests they start walking to the restaurant. 

As they close up the house, Trixie turns to Katya and whispers, “I’m sorry I’m being so cunty. I’m really nervous.”

Katya fixes Trixie with an unblinking look and wraps her hand over Trixie’s wrist as Trixie turns the key in the front door, “I’m really glad you suggested this, Trix. It’s really exciting to see my sisters. Try and get to know them, yeah?”

Katya's dad and Uliana stride out in front, talking quietly but intensely. Katya's mom and Aliona walk behind them. They link their arms and giggle together, and Katya and Trixie follow on last.

"Is this the usual Zamolodchikov formation?" Trixie asks.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, those two and then those two and then you at the back?"

Katya shrugs, "When we were kids Dad always used to quiz Uliana about school, and Aliona was little and needed Mom to hold her hand, and then I'd just daydream. I used to love daydreaming."

"My poor neglected middle child," Trixie teases. She squeezes Katya's hand. They gossip about Bianca's unsuccessful date from HER, the archaic lesbian dating sites of the past, and funny and lewd headlines they would use if they had Grindr profiles. Aliona overhears a particularly filthy one and looks over her shoulder, giving Katya a mock-scandalised look. 

It doesn't take long to get to the restaurant. It's already busy, two families are eating at tables outside in the last of the day's sunshine. Trixie's shoulders look tempting in the late afternoon glow. Her sundress has a bow on each shoulder and Katya wants to pull at them until her dress falls open.

Inside, the restaurant is fresh and modern. Katya remembers going to Italian restaurants as a child, how there would always be candles wedged in wine bottles and plastic grapevines hanging from the ceiling. This restaurant is painted crisp white, with monochrome shots of Italian architecture framed on the walls. The kitchen is open; one chef slams his palm onto fat balls of dough while another cradles long strands of fresh, yellow pasta that he pulls from the machine. 

"Hi, I've got a table booked for Zamolodchikov," Her father says at the host stand.

A sunny young waitress flips through the reservation book, "Hrm. Nothing under that name, I'm afraid.”

"It's under Mattel," says Trixie, squeezing past Katya’s dad to the front of the group. "Sorry Peter, I booked it under my name out of habit."

The waitress ticks the name off the list, leads them to their table. There’s plenty of choice on the menu. Trixie chooses an unctuous aubergine dish which arrives bubbling in a ceramic dish, while Katya goes for langoustine ravioli. She squeezes lemon all over the plate and breathes in the fresh scent before she starts to eat.

Katya finds herself observing everyone else at the table. She is finished with her meal. She pushes the last remaining pasta squares around the little puddles of butter, while tuning in to the conversations going on around her. On one side, her mother is talking to Uliana about the practicalities of relocating back to the States and the legal process of her divorce. On the other side, Trixie seems to be dragging Katya’s father into a discussion about Portugal’s drug policies. Katya had sent Trixie a long-read about the decriminalisation of drugs in Portugal the other night, and Trixie is ably summarizing it to her father.

Katya hears Trixie say, “The thing is, you’ll never get rid of drugs from the streets. But if you tackle stigma and make it safer for people to use, you save lives and enable people to remain part of society, not on the fringes.”

Her dad has taken his glasses off and is tapping the end of one of the arms against his mouth, which usually means he’s listening closely. When Trixie takes a breath, he asks her for statistics about a study into the methadone programme run in Lisbon, and Trixie stumbles and reddens. She avoids the question by telling him about an emotive case study instead. 

“Is this article something that Yekaterina has sent you? What is the editorial position of this newspaper?”

“Yes,” replies Trixie smoothly. “It’s from the Guardian, a British paper. It does have quite a socially progressive outlook.”

Katya’s dad makes a particularly Russian dismissive sound. He puts his glasses back on and peers at Trixie from behind them, “I find my daughter often seeks out sources that validate her own beliefs.”

Katya’s heart sinks and she thinks of intervening, but then Trixie shrugs and says, “I think we all do that. But surely trying something more radical than just pushing people into the criminal justice system is worth trying.”

Aliona gamely begins an anecdote about travelling from her recent sabbatical in Europe. In Portugal she learnt an untranslatable word, _saudade_ , which Aliona found irrepressibly romantic. She tells Trixie and her father that it describes a particularly melancholic sort of missing, where you yearn intensely for something you know you can never experience again. Aliona’s eyes abruptly fill with tears and she’s unable to finish her explanation. Katya can’t help smiling down at her plate when she sees her father’s perplexed frown and Trixie’s blank expression. 

Her father moves the conversation on, and Katya feels that no-one will miss her if she goes for a cigarette. Katya picks her way between the tables and out into the street. The windows are fogged up with the heat inside the restaurant, and Katya can just see the shimmer of the candles on each table and the shadowed silhouettes of people talking. She takes a deep breath; the fresh evening air is a welcome change. She brings her shoulders up to her ears and then drops them as low as she can. She repeats it a few times until she feels the tension seep away. She lights a cigarette. 

The door opens behind her and releases a quick blizzard of noise before it swings shut again.

“Hi,” says Trixie softly. She puts her hand lightly on Katya’s shoulders.

“I missed you,” Trixie whispers, “Are you having a good time?”

“Yeah, I am. Just needed a breather and a smoke.” 

It surprises Katya that she’s not lying. She is having a good time. 

“Hrm, breathing and smoking. One of those really doesn’t facilitate the other,” Trixie teases. She reaches for Katya’s cigarette and grabs it off her. Katya starts to try and wrestle it back, but Trixie doesn’t put it out. She puts it to her lips and takes a long drag.

“Hey! Get off! You don’t smoke!”

Trixie rolls her eyes and takes another, deeper drag. She exhales through her nostrils. It’s disturbingly hot, Katya notes.

“I’m entitled to something, I’m going teetotal for my first meal with my girlfriend’s family,” Trixie gives Katya a smile with pursed lips and a tilted head. Katya feels guilty for a second until she remembers that Trixie is the one that suggested it all.

“Look at what Violet has sent me,” says Trixie, getting out her phone. She shows Katya a picture taken in Violet’s bathroom. Katya can see the side of the tub and a running faucet. On the floor there’s a book titled ‘ _Contemporary Queer Playwrights. Vol. 4_ ’, a fat joint with the end twisted up, and a matte black vibrator. Violet’s added a caption saying, "I bet you wish you were me," with a crying emoji. 

“She’s a cunt,” Katya laughs, it’s such a typically _Violet_ thing to do. 

“I know, I love her,” says Trixie. She’s laughing too, looking at the picture again and shaking her head. Katya’s heart feels full to bursting. 

“Aliona’s a fucking monster though,” says Trixie.

“Really?” Katya is surprised, she thought Trixie and her younger sister would be able to find common ground. 

“Yes! She keeps telling me I could be a plus size model, she asked for my height and my cup size! She’s told me three times now that Ashley Graham has over six million Instagram followers.”

“Jesus. I’m sorry my sister is apparently as obsessed with your tits as I am. It must run in the family.”

“I don’t think being obsessed with my tits is a hereditary condition. I think you can both probably control it,” Trixie crosses her arms over the tits in question and they squash almost as far up as her necklace. 

Katya has a sombre thought, “You can’t be too hard on Aliona though. Things were really tough for her when we were younger. Uliana was away at college and everyone was worrying about me all the time, I think she missed out on a lot of normal, fun adolescent stuff. It’s not easy when your older sibling is a bit crazy.”

Katya sees Trixie flinch. It’s just a tiny flicker but Katya notices it and feels like a tool for the second time that day. She puts her hand on Trixie’s arm, “No, Trix. Your situation is different. It’s not your fault that…” Katya thinks of the right word to say. All the words that come to mind sound too dark for this early Summer evening. 

“Okay, yeah,” Trixie interrupts Katya’s agonising, “But by that logic, it’s not your fault that you were ill.” Her gaze is direct, and it burns into Katya. Trixie’s right. Trixie’s right, and Katya knows it. 

Trixie moves closer to Katya, looms over her. Trixie eyes are heavy lidded, and her mouth is so close. If Katya stood on her toes she would be easily within reach of Trixie’s lips. They’re so tantalisingly close that Katya can smell the rich garlic and hot chilli on her breath. They stay frozen, sharing each other’s breath, for as long as Katya can stand. She flexes her feet and pushes up to Trixie’s mouth, but Trixie moves away. Katya sinks down, and Trixie moves closer again. Her eyes are almost black. She makes a quicker push up to Trixie’s mouth, but Trixie anticipates the movement before Katya makes it. Katya grabs Trixie’s wrists instead. 

“Kiss me, or you’ll be sorry when we get home,” she murmurs to Trixie. 

“Beg me,” Trixie says imperiously, arching her eyebrow. Katya could push back, take control, but she’s intrigued enough to see what Trixie will do if she obeys.

“Trixie Mattel. Will you please kiss me? Please?” 

Trixie smirks and moves slowly, almost imperceptibly slowly, towards Katya. 

“Girls!” The sexual tension between them dissipates immediately as a very familiar voice rings out behind them. “Girls! Awh, you are just adorable. I should have taken a quick snap of you. Mom and Dad want to know what you want for dessert.”

“We’ll come back in now, thanks Aliona,” answers Katya as Trixie hides her face in Katya’s neck. Aliona smiles and makes her way back into the restaurant.

“Aliona wanted to _share a dessert_ with me. She’s a monster, Katya. I'm an adult woman, I don't eat half portions.”

“Just tell her you want your own fucking tiramisu,” Katya says. She suggests, “When we go in, let’s swap so you’re by Uliana and Mom, and I’m with Dad and Aliona.”

“Are you sure? I had some questions about Hong Kong that I wanted to ask Uliana, it would be good to speak to her for longer.”

“Sure, I want to hear Aliona talk to Dad about the guy she’s fucking without revealing that he’s married.”

“He’s married?” Trixie sounds scandalised.

Katya laughs and pushes Trixie back though the door of the restaurant with her hand on the small of her back. 

When they get back to the table, Aliona urgently ushers them to sit down. She claps her hands together and declares, “Right! I think we should share, like, a random story about Yekaterina. Or our favourite story, or whatever. Trixie, you go first. Then we’ll work around the table and come back to me.” Aliona rests her head on her palms and smiles at Trixie. 

Katya has always privately thought of Aliona as the most attractive of herself and her sisters. Aliona’s nose is smaller and less obstructive than Katya’s, and Aliona’s eyes look clearer and greener than Katya’s when they’re framed by her dark hair. She looks particularly pretty tonight, and Katya wonders whether Trixie notices that too. 

Trixie rubs her lips together in thought, and then turns to meet Katya’s eyes with a smile that tugs her mouth to the side.

“Er,” Trixie hesitates, “I think I’ll go for the first time I met you. I remember you wearing that baggy red sweater and you smelt like one of those hippy-shops. And I thought, 'Here we go. You can see she’s a yoga teacher!'” Trixie rolls her eyes wryly.

Aliona laughs delightedly and drums her fingers on the table with excitement.

Trixie continues, “You were waiting for the class, and as they came in you greeted everyone by name. You kept on bouncing around, your hair flopping everywhere. The whole class seemed so excited to see you, and I remember thinking that I wanted you to remember me in the way you obviously remembered everyone else that had been there before. I immediately knew that you were someone special, that I wanted you to notice me.”

Katya’s never heard that before and Trixie blushes in the telling of it, twists her napkins around her fingers. 

“Right, someone else tell a story!” Trixie says quickly, ducking her head.

Katya’s mom takes over, giving Trixie’s hand a light squeeze before she starts speaking.

“Well, Trixie. You see, when I first had the girls I took a part-time contract at work so that I could spend enough time at home. There was this golden time when Uliana had just started kindergarten and it was just Katya and I at home.” Her mom pauses, “And a little later on, Katya started getting so shy. But when she was learning to talk we couldn’t get her to shut up! She’d follow me around, padding around on her little feet and chattering away, telling me little stories about the birds. I always knew that she would grow up with her own, unique point of view.”

Trixie smiles broadly, “That’s the sweetest thing I could possibly imagine!”

Uliana takes over, “Well, I remember a slightly different Katya. I remember the bitch that instigated the Great Hair Dryer War of 1995!”

Katya honks with laughter, the story is well-worn within the family. Even Trixie knows it. It had ended in the sisters being given separate bedrooms, and Uliana being allowed a lock on her door.

“But also, when I first moved out to Hong Kong and Kat phoned me in tears and asked if she could come and stay with me,” Uliana starts again, and Katya freezes. Her laughter dries in her mouth. She knows what story this is, and it’s not one she’d like Trixie to hear.

“Well, we ended up speaking for hours. It was the most honest conversation that I can remember having with anyone in my adult life. It reminded me of the time before the Great Hair Dryer War, when we shared bunk beds and spent all night talking,” Uliana rounds it off. 

It’s not exactly the same story that Katya remembers. Katya remembers talking urgently into the receiver as fast as her lips and teeth would let her. But she does remember her sister listening and reassuring her, telling her about the weather in Hong Kong and how she could see the South China Sea from her new bedroom. 

Katya’s dad leans forward and takes his glasses off, “I’m tempted to say that it gives me great joy to think about you now, when you seem so content. But I also want to embarrass you in front of your woman here. So, I’ll tell Trixie about when you were small, and we used to collect leaves for your scrapbook. We’d usually go to the Arnold, and you’d pick up the muddiest, most raggedy leaves for your collection. I can still see you now, stomping through the park in your red rubber boots. When we got home I’d give you a step-stool so you could stand at the sink and brush your leaves clean with an old toothbrush”

Trixie holds her hands in front of her mouth, “I can’t take it, that’s too cute.”

“I’ll tell mine now!” Aliona proclaims, then waits for everyone to turn towards her before speaking. Trixie is the last to turn, refilling her and Katya’s glasses with water.

“I remember when Katya and I were still doing gymnastics together before she wimped out and heartlessly abandoned me. That girl – Oh! Miranda Halliwell? Yes, that was her. Miranda was the first girl we knew to really _blossom_. You could pretty much always see her nipples through her costume, and sometimes they’d pretty much pop out. All the boys were saying she needed to wear a bra, and I remember Katya just walking up to the boys and saying, ‘Well, _I_ like them!’ And there was this silence. Just dead silence. No-one knew what to say,” Aliona is relishing the telling of her tale.

Katya remembers this vividly. It was the sort of memory that popped into her head sometimes when she was in the shower or falling asleep, and immediately made her stomach sink and her hands go numb with mortification. She’s only ever told one other person, an ex-girlfriend. She had always tortured herself with the thought that she might have embarrassed Miranda, that she'd been as bad as the boys.

Miraculously, Trixie hoots with laughter. Laughter loud enough to make people on other tables turn their heads and stare, and it suddenly makes Katya laugh too. What’s so embarrassing about that story, truly? Katya thinks. She was just a girl trying to defend another girl from some bullies. It was a little gauche, but there was nothing predatory about it.

“Sorry,” The waiter interrupts, “I’ve got two tiramisus and a lemon sorbet here. I can bring the rest of the desserts out now.”

After their dessert Trixie calls for the bill, putting her bank card on the metal saucer before anyone else can even get their wallets out. Katya’s father protests, but Trixie won’t have any of it. Uliana offers to drive Aliona and their parents back to the family home. She has left her car at Katya’s so they all pile into a taxi together and then hover at the bottom of the wooden steps of Trixie and Katya’s porch. 

“Would you like to come in for a quick drink before you go?” Trixie offers. 

Katya can see the small tells of exhaustion in Trixie; the way she supports the arch of her back with her own hands, the way her accent thickens. It surprises Katya that she actually wants her family to stay, but she also wants to take Trixie to bed and rub her back for her.

“No,” Katya’s mom says warmly, “You two enjoy the rest of your evening. Let us know when you open your gifts.”

Aliona stage-whispers to Trixie, “Kat’s always been so funny about gifts. She used to take them up to her room to unwrap and then insist we saved every piece of the packaging too.” 

Trixie’s smile spreads slowly as she looks over to Katya, “Oh that’s so sweet. I’ll make sure she texts you as soon as she opens them.” 

Katya starts saying goodbye to her family. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Uliana press her business card on Trixie. She overhears Uliana say that she’d like to have more regular dinners, and she hopes they can stay in contact to arrange them. Katya lets her chest flood with that warm feeling again. It would be nice, she thinks, to see them more. Perhaps they could do a barbeque out the back. Trixie could have her own vegetarian section of the grill. They could invite the people in the apartments upstairs.

Aliona cups Katya’s elbow and draws her a bit further away from the group.

“I really like Trixie, Katya,” Aliona whispers conspiratorially. 

“That’s great Ali. I really like her too, clearly.”

“She’s honestly amazing. She’s so smart and she could totally be an underwear model. It’s really nice that you’re both girly-girls. I totally wouldn’t have guessed that she’s a lesbian. You look so cool and glam together. You’re, like, both Portias.”

Katya couldn’t roll her eyes more if she tried, “Ali, I don’t have time to talk to you about this now. I love you very much, but it’s time for everyone to go home.” She raises her voice loud enough that her parents could conceivably overhear, “Good luck with Mark, I hope he grows a pair and finishes things with his wife. You’ll be an amazing step-mom.”

Before they leave, Katya hugs her father to her chest. She always remembers him being enormously tall. It used to hurt her neck when he’d embrace her fully. But now he seems to be barely taller than her, and when he holds her back, his hands have a weaker grip than they used to. She hugs her mother next, and she seems more energetic than ever. She smells of Giorgio Beverly Hills like she always has, as far back as Katya can remember. She remembers the striped yellow box and the curvy bottle; and how Mom always said it smelt like freedom.

Katya and Trixie wave as her family makes their way down the driveway and into Uliana’s car. They keep waving until the car disappears around the corner at the end of the street, then go in and switch the coffee maker on. 

As the coffee drips painfully slowly into the glass pot Trixie asks, “Did I just hear Aliona say it was good that I’m a proper girl?”

“She said girly-girl. I know, I know. But she means it as a compliment,” Katya sighs, exasperated by her little sister but willing to defend her. Even when she knows she’s wrong. 

Trixie laughs, “Bianca’s going to love that. She’ll shit.”

Trixie bangs the top of coffee machine to get it to flow a bit faster. “Aliona’s not that bad really. Just a bit young for her age. Your family are delightful,” Trixie says.

“You must wonder how I became such a fuck-up.”

Trixie pokes her hard in the ribs “Hush!” she says, “Don’t be an idiot. Come on, I want to see you open your presents.”

Her parents have bought her practical gifts as usual; good quality bed sheets, some bamboo socks, and a wooden box of small bottles of flavoured sea salt.

“These are so cute!” Trixie exclaims, taking them off Katya and shaking them, “You could pretend you were in potions class!”

Her sister’s gifts are more frivolous; A book about photography, a new leather journal, a crystal bracelet, and a set of fancy European bath products in neon colours. 

She saves Trixie’s for last. Trixie has given Katya two gifts. One looks like a shoebox but feels like metal, and the other is long and thin like an envelope.

“Open this first,” Trixie says, tapping the top of the larger gift.

Katya peels the paper off and sets it aside. Inside there’s a green metal tin with a hinged lid. Trixie has carefully painted “Katya’s Car Box” in gold paint, and then added a red rose either side of it.

Katya flicks up the lid and inside there’s an ice scraper, some nuts, gum, a tiny torch, a rosary and a small figure of Ganesha, hand wipes, tissues and a brand-new copy of _The Teaches of Peaches_ , free from any scratches or marks.

“Trix, this is amazing!” Katya laughs.

“My granddad gave me a glove compartment kit when I passed my test. I thought it might bring you luck,” Trixie explains, “Now open this.”

Trixie slides the long, thin package over to Katya. She carefully tips it up, so that the contents fall out. It’s a plain paper wallet and Katya glances quickly at Trixie before she opens its flap.

There’s a small card voucher in the wallet but Katya can barely take in the words printed on it. Her eyes fix on a few words: $3000, airline, travel, anywhere.

“It’s a air-travel voucher,” Trixie says. It sounds like she’s speaking from somewhere far away. Trixie opens her mouth again and it takes Katya a few minutes to realise that there’s sound coming out of it.

“You can fly from Logan International, or anywhere really. You can use it with almost any airline. It’s valid for two years so we can take our time and organise my work, or your studying, or our mental health around it. And if you play a small admin fee you can extend it, if we don’t organise it within two years.”

“It’s too much. You paid for dinner,” says Katya uselessly.

“Yeah, $238 plus taxes and gratuity,” Trixie says casually, “I budgeted about that much for dinner. I checked the menu online before I suggested it. I’ve budgeted for this plane ticket too.”

Katya takes a few moments to collect her thoughts and then asks, “Where do you want to go?” 

“It’s your birthday present!” Trixie exclaims, smiling encouragingly at Katya. “You should decide. We could go somewhere you’ve been before and enjoyed, like France or San Francisco. Or you could try somewhere new. We could go to Thailand, Vietnam...You love Asian food.”

Katya thinks about it, and she finds that she isn't as daunted by it as she thought she'd be.

“Thank you, Trixie. I love you,” is about all she can manage. Her voice sounds hoarse and low, and Trixie squeezes her knee in response. 

They sip their coffee. Katya finds herself telling Trixie story after story about growing up with her family. For once, she doesn’t feel like she has to finish every story with a caveat about what happened when they all grew up. When she let them all down. Good-Katya and Bad-Katya don't have to be as strictly demarcated. She can be just the one person, and it's freeing. Trixie sits with her legs folded under her and listens, cradling her cup against the side of her calf. Katya holds the paper wallet in her lap. It’s such a light thing but she’s sure she can feel the weight of it on her knees.

They finish their coffee and Trixie lines their dirty cups up next to the sink for them to wash in the morning.

When they get to bed, Katya wants to fuck Trixie but she doesn’t know if she can. She tempts herself by thinking about kneading both Trixie soft breasts and the hard, gristly knots in her shoulders. She imagines the first touch of Trixie’s tongue on her clit, and how the heat of it will make her shiver and moan. But she also feels her limbs getting heavier with exhaustion. 

Trixie folds her into bed and kisses her and kisses her and kisses her until she’s insensate. Even Trixie’s vanilla-y perfume is soporific. Katya’s too tired to even move her mouth, she lets Trixie lick into and over it until the spit is running over their cheeks and chins and down into the pillowcase underneath them. 

Trixie presses two fingers in between Katya's labia and pushes them as deep as they will go, bending them upwards. She rubs her thumb above and around Katya's clit, and soon Katya is making low, rumbly moans that flow into each other as easily as waves. Trixie presses her body flush against Katya and loops her other hand around Katya's neck to press on the knobbly vertebrae at the top of Katya's spine. Katya's eyes flutter closed as Trixie murmurs quiet words of encouragement into her ear. When her orgasm hits, it comes with the force of a spade digging into a rock. It feels as if it dislodges something hard and heavy, lets cool, clear water flow from underneath it. 

Trixie maneuvers Katya so her muscled thigh is between Trixie's larger, softer ones. Trixie clenches her thighs around Katya’s, slides herself over the hard plane of Katya's thigh. Katya can feel Trixie’s wetness smearing on her leg. Her breath still smells of garlic. Katya thinks Trixie’s cunt will probably taste of garlic tomorrow, and she makes an oath to herself that she’ll make time to find out. Trixie is squeezing her thighs and rocking her hips forcefully enough that it pulls Katya’s body back and forth. Trixie comes with a sudden intake of breath, whimpering “Katya. I - _I love you_ ,” against Katya’s neck, hands tightly clenched in the roots of Katya’s hair. 

Katya pats Trixie’s sweaty back and says, "Clean my leg up for me, then."

Trixie slithers down beneath the sheets and her burning tongue licks long stripes up Katya's thigh. When she's licked all her wetness up she moves back up the bed. She turns Katya on her side, then shifts herself around so Katya can hold her. Katya closes her eyes. Trixie’s body is solid and warm under their thin summer blanket. Katya can faintly hear someone walking around in the apartment upstairs. She imagines a map of the world, illuminated by tiny white dots tracking planes moving safely to their destinations. A dot flashes rhythmically as it moves over the ocean between Paris and Boston, another as it tracks over Asia between Moscow and Seoul. She imagines more and more, until the map is covered in the little white pulses. She falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the lovely feedback on here and on Tumblr. 
> 
> The song that Trixie puts on for Katya in the car is Big Time Sensuality by Bjork. 
> 
> The Guardian long-read that Katya sends Trixie can be found [ here](portugals-radical-drugs-policy-is-working-why-hasnt-the-world-copied-it)


	21. Supplementary material I: August 2013, 'Violet & Katya have a quiet night out.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an epilogue, which is also a prologue. Or a prequel. I think. Do you read books?
> 
> Happy Valentine's Day!! This is in lieu of a card to you! Especially for those who requested more on-screen kink and/or a threesome. 
> 
> This is about as romantic as my Christmas chapter was Christmassy, but contains even more Violet Chachki! Idk I just felt like writing it!! There is little-to-no Trixya in this. 
> 
> It takes place in August 2013, four years before the start of the story.

_August 2013_

It’s a hot day in August, and Katya sits on the edge of the new countertop. She built it with her own hands. She reclaimed the wood, sanded it down, painted it and installed it at the side of the large room at the centre of their new premises. Katya has been involved with the centre for three years now, since the start of her most recent and most successful attempt at sobriety. It started out as just a few dingy rooms, a gallery of paintings and sweaty room used for support groups, yoga and interpretive dance classes. Now they’ve got a larger home on the outskirts of Cambridge. They’ve developed a small black-box theatre, a café, and Violet has a mad idea of adding a cinema. Ginger, Violet and Katya are a good team of three. Ginger cares most about community outreach, Violet is mostly concerned with supporting challenging new artists and Katya, a natural mediator, easily moves between their two points of view. 

Katya’s wearing a short dress that rides up the side of her thigh. She crosses one leg over the other and sits on her hip so her rounded ass is pretty much on show. Katya doesn’t care. She’s 30, a fact that thrills and appals her in equal measure. On one hand, she can no longer answer with “I’m in my twenties” when a girl asks for her age. But on the other hand, she never expected to be alive to see thirty, so there’s that.  


Her mother told her that her early thirties were the most sensual years of her life and maybe it’s hormones or some shit like that but Katya’s feeling comfortable in her skin for once today. She likes her legs; she likes the planes of muscle that stand out beneath her skin. She’s waxed and fake-tanned them, and she leans forward to run her hands down them to enjoy the feel of the soft skin.

“Can you please stop masturbating on my counter please?” Violet’s voice is acidic. She’s trying to hook up their fancy new coffee machine, instruction booklet in one hand and a piece of unidentified metal tubing in the other. 

“I’m so sorry you can’t handle my raw sexual power,” Katya offers, putting on a stupid voice and pulling a grimace. 

“What are you even doing here?” says Violet, “You’ve only got one yoga class today. You should go and enjoy the sunshine while we’ve still fucking got some.”

Katya knows Violet still misses the sticky Atlanta heat. She moved here two years ago for college, dropped out after just one term because she didn’t agree with her crits. Violet had turned up to a sad little exhibition of work created by the homeless women Katya knows, and had never left the Centre. Now she practically runs it. Tall, beautiful and preternaturally self-possessed, Katya has often wondered what it would be like to fuck Violet. Whether Katya wants to fuck Violet, mentor Violet or, _be_ Violet, Katya is never quite sure. In reality, Violet is 10 years younger and, perhaps more inconveniently, at least as dominant in bed as Katya is. 

“My European genes can’t handle the sun. I might go home, open all the windows and just lie naked on the bed for a while,” Katya says.

It’s so warm that Katya’s dabbed talcum powder all up the insides of her thighs so they don’t chafe. Two years ago, the temperature had been over 100 for almost a solid week. At the moment, it’s in the low 90s and the local papers are just beginning to work themselves up into a frenzy about the possibility of another heat wave.

“Yeah, you probably should. I mean, at thirty your skin is going to start deteriorating fast. You don’t want to add sun damage to the party,” Violet teases. Her eyes are heavy lidded in the warmth of the café. 

Katya cringes, drags her hands down the sides of her face.

“You want to go out tonight?” Violet asks.

“Midway?”

“Again? Really?” Violet rolls her eyes and huffs, “It’s a dismal place full of ancient people. I heard about a great pop-up down by the river. You need a code to get in, but my friend is the mixologist there… “

Katya tunes Violet out. She knows the crowd Violet runs with. They’re nice enough, but too free with the drugs and the drink for Katya’s taste. Katya knows The Midway; the music is decent, and the bar-staff appreciate a friendly chat with Katya as everyone else around them gets drunker and more insufferable. 

“- Fine, we’ll go to The Midway for the thousandth time. I wanted to hook up and there’s never anyone new there. But I suppose there’s always Sharon if I can’t find anyone else,” Violet finishes.

“Sharon? Please, she’s older than I am.” 

“So?” Violet arches her eyebrow. 

Katya doesn’t have much to say to that. There's not much wrong with Sharon, but not much right with her either. Katya herself hasn't hooked up in a long while. Earlier on in the year, she'd been on a few dates but it hadn't worked out. Since then, nothing.

Later that evening, Katya meets Violet at the club. Katya’s dressed in a little black body with fishnets underneath. It’s probably not becoming for a woman in her thirties, but her body is toned at least. Violet’s hair is pinned and coiffed into a 50s style bun, and she wears some heavy costume jewellery earrings with a skin tight black dress and long black evening gloves. The club is busy, but Katya has to admit to herself that Violet is right, they know most of the other queer women in JP. There’s obviously been a band, but they’ve missed them. On the low stage there’s a few guys zipping drums into bags. 

"She's hot," Violet says suddenly, tongue curling around her straw.

Katya follows her eyes and sees who Violet is looking at immediately. She's short and chubby, especially compared to Violet. She's got messy purple hair and eyebrows to match. Her face is immaculately made up, with acid pink lips, a tiny eyeliner heart painted on her cheekbone and thick top and bottom lashes. The girl is wearing a slashed up old Jack Off Jill shirt, exposing a black bra and transparent plastic harness underneath. She’s wearing a skirt that looks home-made from scraps of plaid shirts and half a denim jacket. Around her neck she’s got a matching transparent collar with a large silver O-ring, and a long gold necklace trailing down to her stomach, ending in a Virgin Mary pendant. She’s cute, and Katya can definitely see why she’s caught Violet’s eye. 

Violet leaves Katya on the dance floor while she goes to the restroom. She returns back and grabs Katya’s shoulder to tell her to lean in and listen, “I saw the hot girl in the toilets,” she says, “I gave her a look, y’know, but she jumped a mile and scurried out.”

Katya laughs and slaps Violet on the back, “Unlucky, I’m sorry!” 

Katya goes to the bar and buys Violet a beer with a shot of tequila on the side, and asks for a soda water with lemon for herself. She notes that the chubby girl that Violet was eyeing up is in the queue next to her. Katya probably shouldn’t say what she wants to say, but Violet’s wounded pride is never going to get her anywhere, “My friend Violet said that she tried to give you the look, but you thought she was mean-mugging you.”

The girl’s eyes widen. They’re big and blue, “Shit – yeah – I saw her. Who didn’t? She’s gorgeous, and I’m here like a trash bag.” The girl flaps the empty arm of the denim jacket sewn into her skirt.

“Nah, you look hot.” Katya gives the girl her favourite look, three seconds of sustained eye contact and then a lingering look up and down with an even slower, toothy smile. The girl blushes, looks down and trails her finger through someone else’s spilt drink, making a pattern with it on the wooden bar. 

Katya looks down the girl’s freckled arm, “Wow, is that a Keith Haring tattoo?” She knows it is. It’s not like his dumpy little cartoons could be confused with anyone else’s work.

“Yeah,” The girl reaches up to her own arm and touches her tattoo. Her arms look so soft as she touches them, her fingers sink into the flesh easily. It’s a pretty tattoo, an even black outline filled with a red heart. “I love his work,” she says, “I’m Laila.” She reaches out and shakes Katya’s hand with cold, wet fingers. 

Violet must have run into some friends, because Katya and Laila end up talking by themselves for ages. Katya is good at collecting both the most esoteric and the most mundane information from people. Katya learns that Laila is also from Massachusetts, but now lives in New York. She’s back for a family funeral, which is tomorrow, but is spending the night in Boston so she can see her friend’s band. She’s got a proper job, she’s a sales rep for a pharmaceutical company. She laughs loudly when Katya asks if this is a fancy way of saying drug dealer. Katya’s sure she’s not lying when she says no, it’s not. Laila’s an artist in her spare time and enjoys sitting in her window and sketching people on the street as they walk by. She also knows how to screen-print and would like to improve her sewing. Laila’s sweet and funny and Katya finds herself leaning into her space, listening to her as she talks about her job and her art and her friends. 

Violet returns, and gives Katya a mournful, betrayed look as she reaches across Katya and grabs her beer. The bottle has warmed up in the time that it’s taken for Violet to get back, and all the condensation has run down and made a puddle on the bar. Katya offered Violet’s shot to Laila a while back, she felt a bit silly with it sitting unclaimed between them. 

Katya tries to bring Violet into the conversation. She tells Laila about Violet’s burlesque performances, and how she makes almost all of her own costumes. That carries them through for a while, as Violet tells Laila about sewing her own boning and the history of corsetry. Laila seems shyer around Violet and although she listens to Violet, her eyes flicker to Katya more often than not. Sooner than Katya would like, the conversation lapses. All three of them end up staring at the variety of bottles behind the bar, making insipid comments about the different shapes and designs. 

Katya excuses herself for a smoke, and she wonders whether Violet will use this as her chance to make a move. If Katya were Violet, she would. But surprisingly, Violet follows her outside. Katya finds a space to lean against the fence and takes a long drag of her cigarette, leaning her head back to look at the stars and watching the plume of smoke drift away into the night. Violet stands next to her, staring straight at Katya’s face. She doesn’t know what Violet is thinking.

“Do you want to try and get that girl to have a threesome with us?”

“What the fuck, Violet?”

“She is obviously into you, she can barely drag her eyes away from you. And I know you, you won’t do anything about it. You act like a monk sometimes. You’ll probably go home and punish yourself for impure thoughts with two hundred press-ups.”

Katya won’t bite. She says, “Violet, she’s just a bit shy. Try and smile at her a bit, tell her you like her tattoos. Show her yours.”

“Nah, I think she’ll hold out for you. She won’t say yes to me until she’s sure you’re not interested,” Violet says. She looks calculating. 

“I’ll tell her I’m straight.”

Violet laughs, “You don’t look straight.” 

Katya concedes the point, “I could tell her I’m in a relationship.”

“You didn’t look like a woman in a relationship when I came back. Your face was about an inch away from hers, your head was all tilted like you were just waiting for the lean in. You looked like a love-struck teenager!”  
Katya shoves her shoulder, “Shut it, cunt.”

Violet taunts further, “Come on. You always such talk a big game about being such a top. Let me see how you work.”

Katya scoffs, “And I’ll have to sit around and watch you playing _Mistress_?” She mimes the crack of a whip.

“Well, you wouldn’t have to sit around…” Violet offers.

Katya doesn’t want to admit that she’s warming to the idea. But then she thinks of shy, pretty Laila with her big lips and tattoos bent over for her, and she knows that she’s going to give in. 

“If,” Katya pauses to stress the word, “if we did this, you have to be sober-ish. I want you to stop drinking now, and the blunt in your purse stays there.”

Violet nods, her almond eyes gleaming. The corners of her heart shaped mouth curve slowly upwards.

“And I don’t think we should do anything together either,” Katya says. “I mean, I’m older than you, we work together…” Katya trails off. Katya might have initially been a mentor for Violet, but these days it feels like Violet gives equal support to Katya. Katya isn’t sure where she’d be without Violet’s positive influence, and she’d be furious with herself if she fucked it up. 

“I’ve fooled around with friends before. It’s not a big deal. But fine, if that’s what you want,” Violet shrugs nonchalantly. 

They head back inside, and Laila’s no longer at the bar. The club is small enough that it doesn’t take them too long to find her. She’s in the middle of the dance floor with her friends from the band. They’re head-banging, jumping on the floor with stompy boots, shoving each other with their shoulders. Their wild dancing doesn’t fit the mood of the music and Katya wonders if they’re reliving some teenage glory days. Laila takes a break and runs her hands through her purple hair, pushing it out of her sweaty face. She throws her head back and laughs, her hand on a friend’s shoulder. 

Katya looks at Violet, and Violet looks back. Katya feels profoundly uncomfortable with approaching the whole group. She gives Violet a sharp prod in the small of the back.

Violet stalks through the other people on the dancefloor, swinging one foot directly in front of the other with Naomi Campbell levels of precision. 

Katya can see Violet lean down to speak to Laila. Laila’s smiling, tucking her hair shyly behind her ear. She brings her foot off the floor, lets it swing behind her knee as Violet whispers into her ear. Laila nods. Violet turns and walks back to Katya, swaying her hips. Laila follows meekly behind her.

They meet Katya at the edge of the dancefloor and Katya gives Laila a reassuring smile.

“I can’t believe this,” Laila says, “Came back to see my uncle interred and ended up having a threesome with two fucking hotties.”

Katya loops her index finger through the O-ring on Laila’s collar and pulls hard. Laila grins goofily at Katya and Katya returns it. Fuck, thinks Katya, she could really like this girl. 

Violet interrupts her thoughts, “Kat. Kat! We’ll go to mine, yeah? I want my stuff and yours is always a mess.”

Laila keeps looking into Katya’s eyes, “I wanted to see Katya’s paintings.”

Violet steps behind Laila and takes hold of her hips. She leans down and murmurs in Laila’s ear, “You’ll like what I’ve got to show you even more.”

Violet wants to call a cab to spare her feet in her heels, but Katya wants to walk off some energy. She insists that they walk the twenty minutes through JP to get to Violet’s apartment. Violet shares her space with another young queer artist but luckily, she has had her shipped off for the weekend. Her apartment is much tidier and cleaner than Katya’s but filled with half-finished art pieces and skinny mannequins with burlesque costumes on them.  


“You got any beer?” Laila asks, and Violet darts her eyes to Katya and back again.

“We’d prefer to stop drinking now, and we’d prefer if you did too.”

Laila shrugs, “Whatever, I’m happy with that.” 

Katya settles herself onto Violet’s couch while Laila looks at Violet’s sewing work. Violet fetches some hot water and a clear Perspex teapot. She’s got one of her ridiculous, jasmine scented flowering tea-balls unfurling in there. She’s bought them for the café before and Katya doesn’t really get it, but Laila draws her finger across the outside of the teapot, “That’s so cool.”  
Katya patiently waits until all the leaves have unfurled so Laila can watch, and then puts her arm around Laila’s back, turning her and drawing her to Katya. She kisses Laila softly, then more firmly, pressing her back into the couch cushions. Violet’s matching Perspex cups remain stacked up on the coffee table. 

Violet watches them kiss until Katya leans back from Laila. Laila looks a bit dazed, her cheeks are flushed, and her nostrils are flaring. Violet perches herself on Laila’s lap and leans in to kiss her. Katya’s seen Violet kiss other people before, but she’s never really paid attention to the fact that Violet’s mouth works more quickly than Katya’s does, or that Violet isn’t afraid to use her teeth. Laila raises her hand to tangle it in Violet’s hair. Katya catches it before it reaches Violet’s shining black bun and presses it back down onto Laila’s leg. Laila gives a little sob into Violet’s mouth, and Katya can see Violet smile against Laila’s face. 

Violet pulls back from Laila. Laila looks even more dishevelled now, panting hard with dark eyes. 

Violet doesn’t even look at Laila when she pulls away from her. She just turns to Katya and asks, “Shall we go to my bedroom now?”  


Violet leads them both to her bedroom. It’s lighter and brighter than Katya expected, but does predictably have red and black accents. Her dressing table is strewn with make-up. There’s a pile of books on Violet’s night-stand, Katya spots _An Artist’s Guide To Balancing The Books,_ Violet’s work diary and a collection of South American poetry that Ginger recommended to them both. Katya smiles at the thought of Violet sitting up and working in bed on a Sunday morning. Katya and Ginger are always teasing her about needing to slow down.

“Katya, can you keep Laila nice and quiet for me while I give you both a bit of a show?” 

Katya can’t resist a smirk. She’s heard a lot about how Violet’s burlesque strip-tease is her killer move. She’s heard that it is a panty-wetting, erection raising spectacle more alluring than Salome’s dance of the seven veils. She seats herself against Violet’s headboard and then pulls Laila after her, settling her in between her spread legs. She roughly pulls off Laila’s torn t-shirt, leaving her only in her bra, harness, skirt and black pantyhose. Laila reaches over her head to pull Katya down for another kiss, and Katya is thrilled to spot that Laila has thick scads of dark hair underneath her armpits. Katya lets herself be kissed by Laila, until she hears a cough.  


“Katya, I don’t think you should be letting Laila misbehave like that.”

Katya draws back, “Oh yes, sorry, I’d hate to detract from your performance.”

Violet’s eyebrow quirks. From somewhere, she’s obtained a large black fan. She stands on her white carpet in her vertiginous pumps and waits for their full attention. When she has it, she starts playing music from her phone. It takes Katya barely a second to recognise the little shuddery riff, the slow drum beat and the soaring strings. 

“Portishead, sickening,” says Laila from between Katya’s spread legs. Katya slides her first two fingers between Laila’s lips to shut her up. She starts sucking immediately. Katya’s glad that she’s sitting behind Laila so Laila can’t see her face. She can’t stop herself grinning as Violet twirls around, wafting the fans in front of her body. It’s both glamorous and silly. The thought of this being the same Violet that cleans the centre restrooms alongside Katya keeps tripping her up. She wraps her other hand around Laila’s waist to keep her tight to Katya’s body. Laila’s body is gloriously soft and Katya can’t resist kneading her stomach with her knuckles.

Violet struts up and down, unzipping her dress and looking over her shoulder with a sultry snarl. She wiggles her shoulders and the beaded material slips down to her waist. Under her dress Violet wears a half-corset, and she dexterously unlaces it while moving her body in perfect serpentine rhythm to the beat. Katya’s not grinning now; she’s hypnotised by Violet’s pout and fluttering eyelashes, not to mention her long legs scissoring in her glossy hold ups. It’s probably the most beguiling dance Katya has ever seen. She’s sweating all down her neck and she’s sure her cunt is dripping by now. 

Violet picks up the fans again and flutters them in front of her body, before casting them expertly away from her so they land under her chair. Underneath the fans, Violet’s now fully nude, apart from stockings and heels. She’s slim, slimmer than Katya. Katya can her see her sternum, her hip bones and most of her ribs. She swivels her hips, bends her back so her tiny pink nipples are pointing up at the ceiling. She’s ridiculously elegant. Violet hasn’t yet broken a sweat; her hair is still in the tight bun it was at the beginning of the night. Katya’s barely aware of Laila now, she’s just sawing her fingers in and out of Laila’s mouth on auto-pilot.

Violet swivels on her heels, then stands on one long leg as she uses the other to open one of her closet doors. She bends over at the waist, giving her ass a cheeky wiggle as she retrieves a long, bouncy riding crop.

Laila groans around Katya’s fingers. It’s muffled but it splits the heavy tension in the room. 

“Katya, are you going to shut that slut up, or what?”

Violet’s words make Laila whimper and Violet smirks down at her. Katya pushes her fingers deeper in Laila’s mouth, until she can feel her struggle to swallow around them.  


“I’ve got a gag if you need to borrow one?” Violet says.

Katya can feel Laila’s eyes on her but doesn’t look down to meet them. Instead, she locks eyes with Violet, “What sort?”

“What sort do you want? I’ve got a ball gag, a spider gag, one with a bit…that’s about it, probably.”

Katya hums, “I’ll have a think. Let’s see how we get on like this first.” She brings her other hand up and ruffles Laila’s hair affectionally. 

Violet continues on with her dance, bending over to roll her stockings down her legs and flick her shoes off with a dramatic movement of her feet. She strokes up her body with the crop, lightly bouncing it against her tiny ass to make it jiggle. When she’s finally done, she struts over to the bed and climbs on, tucking herself the other side of Laila. As she brings her legs up on the bed Katya sees all the soft, pink folds of her vulva and the whole situation momentarily takes her by surprise again. She can’t get over how comfortable Violet seems in her skin. 

“I’m naked and I think you cunts should get naked too,” Violet says, her smile is knife-sharp. 

Violet’s clever fingers are picking at Laila’s bra clasp before anyone else can move. Laila’s breasts are full and round and don’t even fit in Violet’s dainty hands. She plucks at the plastic harness, pressing one pointed nail into the middle of the O-ring on Laila’s chest.

She hisses at Laila, “You’re keeping this on. I like it, even if it is more decorative than functional.”

“Yes, no ‘form follows function’ here, I’m afraid,” Laila replies teasingly. 

Katya starts pulling down Laila’s homemade skirt, leaving her in just her black pantyhose. Katya likes the way that the fold of her stomach slightly sits over her thighs, the way the elastic waistband cuts into her waist. She likes the contrast between Violet and Laila, she wants to draw the two of them in pen and ink. Violet’s fingers claw at Laila’s pantyhose and Katya moves to help her, Laila raising her hips to assist them to push the pantyhose down her legs and on to the floor. 

Violet and Katya both sigh “ _Oh_ ,” at the same time, leaning in to touch different things. Violet’s hands snap immediately to the dark mark soaking through Laila’s cotton panties, pressing her hard fingernails into it to make Laila moan. At the same time, Katya’s hands rub down Laila’s hairy legs. The hair is much thicker and darker than Katya’s ever been able to grow, and she’s fascinated by it.  


“Now you, Yekaterina.”

Katya’s eyes flash, “I don’t know why you think you can get away with calling me that.”

Katya stands and starts stripping her clothes off. All the while, she holds eye-contact with Violet. Violet does a good job of maintaining it for a while, but eventually breaks and looks away with slightly flushed cheeks.

Katya stands next to her bed, trying not to let Violet or Laila see how shallowly she’s breathing. She lets them get their fill of her craggy body before she tucks herself back in behind Laila.

“So what now?” Laila asks.

Katya strokes over her freckled shoulders, “Well, what sort of expectations do you have? Do you have any hard limits we should know about? Violet and I have never done this together, but I know we’ve both played separately. We should both be able to accommodate anything you particularly want to do,” Katya can feel herself start to ramble.

Laila laughs, a big, full throated sound, “I was just hoping you’d both just throw me down and rail me.”

Katya’s stomach flips. She can feel her wetness growing, sliding down her thighs. She’s just about to enthusiastically confirm that she’d like to do that, when Violet cuts in.

Violet's voice is smooth as she says, “That’s very presumptuous. I don’t think you’ve even begun to earn that.”

Violet hops off the bed and roots around in the same box her fans and the crop came off. She returns with a long leather lead.

“Oh, fuck,” Laila groans. “Yeah. I mean, yes please.” 

Violet grabs Laila’s neck with one hand, and clips on the lead to the metal O-ring on her collar. Violet sits at the other end of the bed. Unlike Katya, she doesn’t have any support behind her and yet her posture is perfectly upright. She draws Laila down between her legs by the lead and Katya hears her breath hitch as Laila’s starts to eat her out. 

Katya lets herself just sit and watch for a few minutes, enjoying Violet’s noises and watching Laila’s ass move as Laila pushes her face into Violet. Violet twists her wrist around the length of the lead. 

Violet gives a loud moan, “Kat, she’s really good. You have to – ah, come and try in a minute.” 

Violet rolls her head on her long neck, tangles one of her hands in Laila’s hair. 

“Yeah, I will. In a minute. I’m going to get a rope. Laila, that okay?”

Laila hums loudly from between Violet’s legs. Katya grabs a length of soft black rope and gets back on the bed. She pulls Laila’s feet off the bed and bends them behind her until they reach her calves. It looks kind of like a reclining hero pose but upside down. Katya likes that it lets her look at Laila’s pussy more freely. Like her legs and her armpits, it’s covered in thick black hair. It looks hot and wet and Katya can’t resist brushing her thumb along it. Laila’s hips buck into the bed. 

Katya unravels the rope and runs it between her fingers to get rid of the kinks in it. Katya doesn’t fully understand Violet’s obsession with intricate ropework. Katya gets too overexcited and fidgety to work through the long sequence of ties and knots. She usually just uses her basic knowledge of anatomy from yoga to work out what won’t strain the joints too much and uses her instincts to figure out of the rest. She has a go at a two-column tie, binding Laila’s calves to the backs of her thighs with her pink toenails facing the ceiling. She works quickly, pausing only to slide her fingers under the rope and make sure that the knots aren’t resting directly on any bones. 

Violet is squeezing her eyes tight, gritting her teeth and moving up into Laila’s mouth with quick thrusts. There’s a bright stripe of red on each of her cheeks. Laila must have done something clever with her tongue because Violet’s eyes flick open in surprise. They meet Katya’s and suddenly it’s too much, too intimate. Katya looks down at the way the ropes are pressing into Laila’s fleshy thighs and the throbbing in her cunt only increases. 

“Kat…” Violet’s voice is higher and breathier than Katya’s ever heard before. Katya thinks for a heart stopping moment that Violet is calling out her name because she’s imagining Katya lying where Laila is. But no, Violet’s handing Katya her riding crop. It’s a good idea, and from the rumbling groan Laila gives from between Violet’s legs, everyone agrees on it. 

Katya crawls back up to the head of the bed and spreads her legs like she would for upavistha konasana. She gives Laila a few warm up taps with the crop, feeling out its weight and flex. Laila wiggles her ass each time the crop lands. 

Katya tries a few a bit harder. The crop whistles through the air before landing with a crisp thwack. Laila’s skin marks easily and it’s soon covered in little pink patches. Katya watches as her wetness starts to escape her labia and dribble down onto the cover.

“She likes it, Vi. She’s getting even wetter.”

Katya lets her eyes meet Violet’s again and she’s surprised by the ferocious gleam in them as she says, “Good. Hit her harder.” 

Katya does, raising her elbow to apply a bit more force. Laila keeps wiggling her ass cockily, moving her whole face into Violet. Katya just keeps cropping. She keeps the rhythm steady, focussing on hitting the same places so the marks turn from pink to red. Laila starts shuddering after every hit as the sting turns to burning pain. Katya feels calm, almost meditative. Eventually, Laila begins to flinch from Katya’s blows and whimpers into Violet. Katya lands a few more strokes until Laila’s whimpers are punctuated with quick gasps as the crop lands on sore skin.

Katya gives Laila a little rest. She leans forward and strokes her hand through Laila’s hair, “Do you want me to keep going?” 

Laila leans back, her face glistens. She looks at Katya a bit blankly for a second or two and then manages to say, “Yeah, keep going.”

“I’ll have to spank her as you use her later, Kat, it feels – ah! So good when she whimpers into me,” Violet moans. Seconds later, Violet’s moans start turning into funny little yelps. High, staccato noises that she cuts off at the end. Her knees lock, legs spasming and toes wriggling. Her clawed hand clutches at the back of Laila’s head as the twitches in her feet subside.

“On your knees, Laila,” Violet rasps.

Violet doesn’t take much more than a second or two to recover before she’s working her fingers over Katya’s knots, covering the bed in loops of black rope. Katya makes a dissatisfied noise through her nose when Violet undoes her work without asking first. Katya knows Violet will pick up on it, it's the same noise she makes when someone says something annoying in a team meeting, but the annoyance doesn't last long when Violet slinks off the bed and roots in her drawer again, this time pulling out a sleek black strap-on with a leather harness. As she secures it around her hips, Katya looks at Laila's pretty face. Katya has always loved kissing come off a girl's face, but thinks perhaps Violet's come is a step too far.

Violet pushes into Laila in one hard thrust. Laila grunts, lets her head hang down so her purple hair puddles on the bed sheets. Violet keeps a brutal pace up and the room fills with the sound of Violet's thighs slapping against Laila's ass. 

Katya kneels on the bed and crawls forward, Laila raises her head so they are eye to eye. Violet's wetness has mostly dried on her face now. Her mouth keeps dropping open whenever Violet delivers a particularly hard thrust. 

Katya looks back up at Violet, she has never seen anyone look so elegant using a strap-on before. Despite the pace of her hips, from the waist up she looks like something from Swan Lake, with her shoulders retracted and chest pressed out. 

Katya reaches underneath Laila to fondle her boobs. They're heavy, and Katya likes grabbing them as hard as she can. When Katya grips with her full strength, Laila moans desperately and arches her back. 

"Oh god, I'm close," moans Laila.

Violet pulls back, sliding the toy out of Laila. Laila whines and tries to follow it with her hips, but Violet carelessly shoves her forward into Katya.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm really, ah, close," Laila pants, shamelessly moving her fingers down to work at her own clit.

"Kat, help me here," Violet says despairingly.

Katya regretfully peels Laila's fingers away from her sticky cunt. She gives them a quick suck before pressing them firmly onto Laila's thighs. 

"I need you to ask for permission, okay?" Violet instructs Laila. 

Katya knew that Violet would be the sort to play these games. Katya doesn't care for them. She just wants to fuck Laila, she doesn't care if she comes after two minutes or after twenty minutes, Katya will fuck her just the same.

Laila nods vigorously and whines, and Violet moves back into her. Katya's pinching her nipples in counterpoint to Violet's thrusts and it isn't long before she's tossing her head from side to side again. 

"Please, Violet - Katya, please," Laila stammers.

"No," Violet says merrily, "Not yet!"

Violet slows her thrusts to a leisurely pace. She smiles peacefully at Katya and Katya rolls her eyes back at her. Sometimes, Katya thinks, she doesn't know why she and Violet are friends. 

Laila groans deeply and clenches her fists. Violet gathers all of Laila's hair into one smooth handful, and strokes her hands down the vibrant length of it.

Violet softens her tone. She uses the voice Katya has heard her use only a handful of times, with the very sweetest of the dogs that come into the centre, "That's right. Good, good. You don't need to come for me to use you."

That seems to knock the last of the fight out of Laila, and she sags down into the mattress. Violet gradually starts pushing faster and harder, working Laila up again.

"Please, Violet."

"No, Laila."

Katya can't take this anymore, and she brings her hand down to rub feather light circles around her own clit. She doesn't think that Laila can take much more either. She's panting with her mouth open, eyes rolling back in her head. 

"Please?" Laila tries one more time. Her voice is thin and plaintive. 

"Yes, you can come now," says Violet with a smirk. Laila's hand immediately flies down to her clit and starts working it. It doesn't take long before she's coming, mouth open and eyes closed.

Violet waits a few moments before stepping back. She loosens the harness before stepping out of it, picking up one of the straps and offering it to Katya on the end of a finger. Katya shakes her head. She wants to use her fingers, wants to feel the inside of Laila's cunt for herself. 

Tonight, she just moves into the space where Violet was standing. Bending over to fuck Laila like this is going to kill her back so she urges Laila off her knees and onto her back, knees bent at the edge of the mattress. Katya then kneels between them, resting her forearms on the bed.

Fucking Laila is easy, she's wet and soft and takes in three of Katya's fingers without any fuss at all, just a hitch in her breathing. Katya thrusts shallowly, finds an undemanding rhythm where her third knuckles barely even bump against Laila's cunt. 

Laila starts to move her hips up to meet Katya's, and Katya adds her pinky finger. She wedges her fingers together and keeps her gentle rhythm. This time, when Laila takes her in to third knuckle, she keeps her knuckles at her entrance for a few seconds before pulling back and thrusting in again. Each time, Laila breaths out a, "Yes." It's an addictive feeling, and Katya can feel the buzz of it thrumming through her arms. 

Katya could probably work her fist inside Laila now. Laila's lifting her hips to meet Katya, but Laila is already swollen and might not thank Katya for it tomorrow. Then again, she might. She watches Laila's face closely. Her jaw drops a little further and she moves her hips towards Katya.

Violet stands behind Katya, watching closely.

"You can't fit your hand in, can you?" whispers Violet into Katya's ear.

"Well," Katya shrugs, "We can give it a go."

Katya could easily let herself be overwhelmed with arousal, but she wants to get Laila off first. She knows that once she's got her knuckles through the tight band of muscle at Laila's entrance, the rest of her hand will fit quite easily. Every time the fat edge of the wedge of Katya's fingers comes to rest at Laila's entrance, she groans and tilts her hips up. It seems arbitrary for Katya to stop now. 

"Won't it hurt?" Violet whispers too quietly for Laila to hear above her own moaning. If Violet thought Laila could hear, she'd probably say something lewd about 'stretching her out,' but instead Violet's eyes flicker nervously between Laila's cunt and Katya's face. Violet's dark eyes are open wide, pupils blown. Katya knows Violet's only frame of reference for fisting is porn; the sort of porn that teenagers watch in groups to laugh at. Katya vaguely remembers one of Violet's art-kabal using a slow-mo fisting clip in a show as a metaphor for something unpleasant, like river pollution. It's not surprising Violet thinks of it as grotesque or extreme. Katya looks forward to showing her something different, more sensual. 

Katya slowly rocks her knuckles in, and curls her hand up and in. Despite Violet's rough fucking, and Katya's slow preparation, Laila is uncomfortably tight around Katya's hand.

"Oh, my god," says Laila, "No one has actually managed to do this with me before. That's sick." She tries to prop herself up on her elbows to look, but then Katya gently rocks her fist and Laila starts rippling around her, moaning in surprise as she does.

"I think I just came a little bit then," Laila pants, "I feel so sensitive everywhere, so full."

Katya isn't ready to be done with fucking Laila. There's still tension in her shoulders she needs to release. She wants Laila to feel it in her fingers and toes, feel it in her spine tomorrow. She's way too tight to pull out and push straight back in, but she can certainly twist her fist around in slow circles inside Laila. Laila's walls are fluttering around Katya's hand arrhythmically while she chants, "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god" under her breath.

Katya keeps going until Laila's hips slow down, and she flops her forearm across her eyes. She lightly kisses Laila's thighs, tasting the salty tang of her sweat. When Laila's breathing has come back to normal Katya tells her to clench and release so she can pull her hand free.

As soon as her hand is free, she realises again how fucking turned on she is. She gets to her feet with shaking feet, and stumbles onto the bed. Laila rolls on to her stomach and slithers up between Katya's legs. Katya's wet from front to back and Laila attempts to lick it up. Katya can't cope with it, she clutches at her own hair. Every lick makes her tremble. Laila's tongue is light and soft and yet Katya's reacting like it's a fiery whip. 

Violet settles herself on the bed, moves down a little so her and Katya aren't head to head on the pillow, but she can still feel the tickle of Violet's hair on her forearm. Katya sees Laila reach out to Violet and attempt to rub her clit. She can just about keep up the rhythm on both of them for a minute or two, and then slackens on one or the other. Katya tolerates it, even Laila's breath or the soft bridge of her nose is enough to stimulate her, over stimulated as she is. Violet isn't so generous, she pulls at Laila's hair and moves her hips back and forth to frustrate her.

Katya closes her eyes, focuses all her attention on her throbbing clit. She can barely stand Laila's tongue now. Katya’s usually very vocal in bed, but she can’t make any noises other than a low, droning groan. Laila brings two fingers to her entrance and pushes them smoothly in, and that finally pushes her over the edge. 

Katya jerks awake. She’s not sure how long she’s been out, but Laila is on the other side of the room pulling her bra on. Laila’s walking a little stiffly and she’s got a soppy smile on her face.  


Violet’s speaking to Laila, sat up in bed like fucking Scarlett O’Hara. She’s wearing some grey horn-rimmed reading glasses that Katya's never seen before. 

“I tend to think,” Violet says, “That the main problem with crowdfunding is the fact that 85% of backers are friends and family, and that leads to saturation point quite quickly.”

Laila shrugs, “But there are campaigns I’ve seen where you get free tote bags and shit like that for backing projects, which means it’s not purely a donation.”

“But you’ve got to factor in the cost for that, it gets complicated. And it all lets the NEA, the National Endowment for the Arts, off the hook,” Violet says. Katya’s heard this argument many times between Ginger and Violet. 

Laila is fully dressed now. She’s wiped most of her make up off but there’s still a ring of black liner around her eyes. She says, “I’ve just had a text from my taxi driver, he’ll be here in five.”  
Katya says, “I’m going to go as well, Vi. You know I can’t sleep in other people’s houses.”

Violet yawns, “That suits me. I’m opening up tomorrow,” She checks the clock next to her bed, “Going to at least get four hours of sleep in.”

Laila pockets her Virgin Mary pendant from where it landed on Violet’s floor.

“I’ve got a hotel room downtown and my car is there. Driving back up-state for the funeral tomorrow and then home to New York from there.”

Katya throws on her fishnets and body.

“Katya, how are you getting home?” Laila asks.

“Walking, I’m just a few blocks away.”

“No,” says Laila, “I’m not letting you walk home at dawn looking like a hooker. You can come in my cab and we’ll drop you off before he takes me into town.”

Katya opens her mouth to argue with Laila about her choice of words and inform her that she’s lived in Boston all her life, but what comes out is, “I’d be grateful for a lift.” 

All the muscles in her legs are aching and the thought of sitting in the back of a dark car sounds luxurious and relaxing right now, even if it’s just a ten-minute drive.

A car horn beeps from outside and Laila shoulders her purse.

“Nice meeting you, good luck with getting that funding. Thanks for the dance, and the fuck,” Laila winks at Violet.

“And you. Hope the funeral goes okay. Katya, you’ve got your lunchtime express class haven’t you?”

Katya nods, picks up her heels and waves goodbye to Violet.

“See you at 12, Vi.”

“Yeah, see ya,” Violet sinks further down into the bedsheets and clicks her bedside lamp off. 

Laila is silent in the taxi. Katya looks out at the lightening sky. It’s turning a cerulean blue; the sort of blue that makes the whole world seem new and quietly optimistic. She thinks about telling Laila how the light makes her feel.

“It’s a shame you’re going back to New York,” says Katya instead.

“It is,” Laila pauses, “But I’ve got a few members of the family looking a bit worse for wear, so maybe I’ll be back sooner than you think.”

Katya honks with laughter at Laila’s unexpectedly dark humour. It’s a turn-on. 

“You could always visit,” Laila starts, “But you said you can’t sleep away from home. That might be a problem.” She laughs as if she thinks Katya might have been joking. 

Katya thinks of ways she could try to make it work. Before she’s even really completed the thought, she tells herself that it’s not a viable solution. Laila’s lovely. She’s only 22 and she’s already got a real job, with a pension plan and a company car. Katya can only see disappointment ahead, on both sides.

Katya gives Laila’s hand a squeeze on the seat between them. She takes a deep breath, “I’ll catch up with you at your next funeral. I’ll wear a hat with a veil, red lipstick and a fur coat with nothing underneath.”

Laila squeezes Katya’s hand back and gives her a nod of understanding. Laila doesn’t ask for Katya’s full name to find her on Facebook, doesn’t ask for her cell number. The cab rounds the corner to Katya’s street, and Katya leans in for a quick kiss before she gets out of the car. Laila returns the kiss enthusiastically, and Katya feels a pang of something like regret as she shuts the car door. 

In Chicago, Trixie Mattel’s eyes snap open. There’s a crashing noise from downstairs and her heart starts thumping until she realises it must just be Bianca returning home from the club. She hears the jangle of Bianca’s keys and her cursing as she forgets there’s a tiny step down to their kitchen. Trixie checks her phone and groans when she sees that it’s gone four. She’s getting up at six, and there’s no point going back to sleep now. She looks through the slit between her curtains and sees the sky lightening. There’s something comforting about this time of day, when the world seems full of possibilities. 


	22. Supplementary material II: June 2018 - April 2020, 'Violet makes a new friend.'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've got two chapters of this sort of thing, just little sketches that I wrote in a particular mood or as a warm up for something else. 
> 
> Also, I didn't go to fucking school for math so I think I've been a bit inconsistent on ages. In the main timeline of IFAFCBD (August 2017 onwards), Katya is 35, Trixie is 27 (but turns 28 very quickly), Bianca is the same age as Trixie and Violet is 25. In the last chapter I posted, Katya is 30 and Violet is 20.
> 
> Posting this today because I'm supposed to be completing my portfolio for college and I don't want to.

_June 2018_  
Trixie often thinks about the promise she made to herself at Christmas to help Violet make some more connections. The Boston Women’s Art Centre has a good spring; Violet directs a short play which gets great reviews, and Trixie attends a scratch night that shows great promise. It’s Summer before Trixie manages to organise some work experience for Violet. Florence is reluctant at first, but Trixie sends over links to Violet’s blog, Violet’s poetry and burlesque videos on YouTube and a selection of articles about productions that Violet has commissioned for BWAC. Florence eventually says that she doesn’t have an Assistant Director on this project, that it would be handy to have someone on board for research and looking at things with a fresh eye.

By contrast, Bianca is thrilled. She texts Trixie back, in all caps, to say that she only has three weeks to make over thirty dresses for an opera that she is costuming. Trixie tells Bianca that Violet’s passion is corsetry, and Bianca sends back three full lines of angel emojis.  
.  
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_June 2018_  
The night before Violet flies out to Chicago, Trixie and Katya head to bed when it’s barely dark. They're getting up extra early to take Violet to the airport, and Katya is looking up facts about Chicago on her phone to text to her.

"I'm quite jealous of Violet, you know,” Katya says. 

"Why? Her fingers will be bleeding when Bianca is done with her, and Florence isn't easy to work with either. She's used to being a big fish in a small pond, bossing you and Ginger about. It'll do her some good to -"

"Nah," Katya interrupts, "Just living in Chicago. You seem to love it so much. It would be so interesting to walk the streets you walked, visit the places you used to love going."

"We could go some time," suggests Trixie casually. She tries to dampen down the feeling of excitement in her stomach. They have been saving the vouchers that she got Katya for her birthday last year. Katya occasionally cuts out a picture from a magazine to put on the fridge; some Japanese vase or a picture of an English cottage in the snow. But when Trixie asks if she would like to use her voucher to actually book a flight, she prevaricates. 

Katya strips off her tank top and gets into bed beside Trixie.

"Yeah, let's see how Violet gets on. Maybe she’ll stay and we’ll all move back to Chicago!"

Trixie dreams of fucking Katya in her old apartment, on the old mattress that was unbearably sunken on the left side. 

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_June 2018_  
"So are you driving, or is Mom?" Violet hollers across their small front yard. She's only got a small carry-on case, and it perfectly matches her travel outfit. It is fifties inspired with skin tight trousers and a nipped in waist. 

"Shh," hisses Trixie, "You'll wake the neighbours. And don't ever fucking call Katya Mom, that's disgusting. Get in the car."

It's too early for Violet's performing. It's too early for Katya's chirpy mood and too early for Katya's tuneless singing in the car. 

.  
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.

 _June 2018_  
Violet sends them a selfie of her arriving at ORD. She's staying with Bianca, working with her for ten days, and then spending two weeks with Florence. 

Violet doesn’t text them for a few days, but Bianca posts a Boomerang on her Instagram. It’s Violet at the sewing machine, feeding material carefully under the needle while throwing her head back and laughing. Trixie watches it a few times, watches the fabric go back and forth, watches Violet’s head go back and forth. 

Bianca’s caption reads, “BEAUTIFUL WORK.”

Two days later Violet sends Katya a selfie. She’s sat on her hip on Bianca's sofa eating a fat slice of pizza. There's a red smear of grease on her chin, and her hair is loosely bundled above her head. The light hits the strong bridge of her nose straight on. Around her legs Trixie can see piles of material, spools of thread and faux pearl beading. 

Underneath she’s written, “Tell Trixie she’s right, the pizza is better here.”

On the sixth day of Violet's visit, Violet sends a full-length photo of her in one of Bianca's gowns onto Instagram. She's sneering into the lens, but there's something soft around her eyes. 

Katya asks her some more questions about how they’re getting on, but Violet only replies to remind Katya that she promised to contact the bakery that BWAC uses and ask them if they can send any more of the vegan flap-jacks.  
Trixie and Katya hear more from Violet on the second week that she is in Chicago. Mostly daily affirmations that Florence is a bitch who is impossible to work with, and one final admission that the show is coming along well.  
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_June 2018_  
By the time Violet flies home Trixie is on production week. After a run of eighteen-hour days, she’s ready to drop. She fills their bath with the hottest water their creaking apartment can provide and adds a vibrant pink bath bomb with gold glitter. 

Katya brings her college work into the bathroom, sitting cross-legged on the toilet with her textbook on her knees. Trixie was looking forward to an hour by herself to cry, or get herself off, or both. But she likes Katya’s quiet company too.  
Trixie is too tall to lie full length in their bath. Either she can submerge her shoulders and neck, or she can submerge all the length of her legs. She decides to rest her sore feet in the water and lets her head rest back on the smooth ceramic lip of the bath. She hopes that Katya might massage her head when she’s finished her reading. Maybe Katya will get her off. She decides that once the muscles in her back have warmed up she’ll soap up her boobs and see where that leads. 

"How has Violet been?" Trixie asks. She feels guilty that she's not checked in with her since she’s been back, but it’s just been an impossible week. There was a point on Wednesday where she thought she might never eat a hot meal again or get the grit out from underneath her fingernails. There was a point on Thursday morning where she thought that she might have forgotten her own name.

"Really funny, actually," says Katya with a smirk. "Do you remember the bit in The Little Mermaid when Ariel comes in with that big flower and she's stroking her face with it? It's been like that."

Trixie laughs, "What do you mean? I can't quite imagine her wafting about with a flower.” 

“She is, I promise! Today she was humming as she worked! She tried to braid a bit of lavender into my hair.”

"Do you think it's because she's had a good fortnight? Or is there something else going on, do you think? Is she slacking off at work?" 

“No, the opposite! She’s more of a virago than ever. She said the trip really inspired her.”

When Trixie's out of the bath and drying her hair, she reads back over her chat with Kim and Bianca for clues.  
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_August 2018_

Trixie is in a cafe downtown working on her laptop, fine tuning a design on a lighting simulator, when Katya texts her breathlessly to say that Violet has booked some time off and has asked Ginger to find someone to cover for her. 

Apparently, she’s flying back to Chicago. 

Trixie texts Bianca, “Why didn’t you tell me you were fucking Violet? Cradle snatcher!”

Bianca replies immediately, “BACK UP I NEVER ASKED FOR YOUR INPUT.”

There’s a short gap followed by a second message, “We’re closer in age than you and Katya. You just forget because you patronise her as much as Katya does. SORRY BUT TRUE.”  
.  
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Violet flies to Chicago at the end of summer. She texts Trixie a picture from the side of Lake Michigan and writes underneath it, “Hey boo. Just learnt that you lot named Lake Michigan from your words for ‘great water.’ Come through Ojibwe!”

Both Violet and Bianca seem determined to document their whole trip on Instagram. There are shots of them at every tourist spot Trixie can think of, plus a trip for pancakes with Kim.  
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_October 2018_

Trixie arrives to the club late, straight from the theatre. She drops her car off at the house and assembles her costume before hurrying to meet Katya at the club. Assembling her costume takes no time. She’s a slutty mouse, for the third year running. She dabs a spot of black eyeliner on her nose and three black lines on each cheek. Her felt ears are stowed away from last year in her desk, and she pours herself into a black latex dress she originally bought for Katya’s eyes only.

When she arrives at the club, she catches up with the general level of drunkenness quickly. Katya is sober, although you wouldn’t guess it from her Wuthering Heights inspired dancing. She’s come as Kate Bush, has put a henna wash on her hair and is wearing a long, wafting robe. Every so often Katya twirls past Trixie, flapping her arms, fabric streaming around her face.

Bianca is in town for Halloween, although she seems to be mostly glued to Violet. They’ve co-designed a couple’s costume and made them separately. Violet is Morticia Addams, her hair is smooth and straightened, hitting the top of her ass. Her dress is gorgeous, the quintessential Morticia silhouette but with little touches of Chachki flair. 

Bianca makes Trixie weak with laughter every time she looks at her. She’s Gomez, her thick eyelashes and dramatic eyeshadow sitting above a ridiculous, pencil-thin moustache that frames her dimples perfectly. Bianca had explained the brilliance of her idea over the phone to Trixie, how she was going to ape the Latinx stereotypes even further. She’s made herself a black velvet matador jacket, with black lace brocade. There’s something compelling about the way the tapered jacket hugs Bianca’s petite body perfectly, cuts her narrow waist at just the right point. 

Trixie is working her way through the Halloween themed cocktail menu, and Bianca insists that they share a “Frankenstein’s lab” themed rack of shots served in test tubes over dry ice. 

They dance together for a while, until the room starts to spin. 

She makes her way to the restrooms to splash a bit of water on her face. It suddenly seems like a lot of alcohol when she’s been working all day and hasn’t had any breaks. She holds on to the sink and wishes she was wearing a looser dress. The pressure of the latex around her middle is making her want to be sick. She wants to step out of her shoes but she knows that once she does, the pain will be so bad she won't want to put them back on again.  


In the mirror Trixie sees the tall, thin figure of Violet Chachki leaning elegantly against the side of the cubicle behind her. Trixie's eyes can barely focus but she thinks she's making eye contact with Violet in the glass. 

“Trixie, you alright?”

“Yeah, just thinking that I should slow down. I like your lipstick. You look great.” 

Violet grins and puts her arm gently around Trixie’s shoulders, "Let's go and get Katya and Bianca."

"How does it work?" Trixie blurts.

"What, walking? Just one foot in front of the other, mostly." 

"No, I mean - You and her. Neither of you ever shut up. You both always think you're right -"

"Whereas you and Katya are both so meek, passive and uncomplicated," Violet smiles indulgently.

"But how does it _work_? Katya's told me about you,” Trixie points her finger in Violet's face, "I know about your dancing, and your bag of tricks, and about the time you tag teamed some fat, Big Pharma goth." 

Violet's lips quirk, "I'm guessing those weren't quite Katya's words."

"But Bianca used to bang on the wall whenever I convinced my ex to have a go at spanking me"

"Maybe it was the volume she had a problem with, rather than the act," Violet suggests.

"No, Bianca told me once that she thought anything kinky was for people that had become desensit-" Trixie suddenly gains awareness of what she's saying and convinces herself to shut her mouth. 

"Go on," Violet says silkily.

"I just can't imagine-"

Violet interrupts immediately, "No one's asking you to imagine. I wouldn't want to imagine you, tallest power bottom in history, going at it with Katya, world’s most flexible junkie."

Trixie pushes Violet’s shoulder on impulse, “Don’t use that word!”

She wants to make herself clear but her lips feel sloppy and slow, her tongue like a block of wood in her mouth. Trixie retracts her arm with the intention to shove Violet again. She’ll do it harder this time. 

Violet’s hand shoots out and catches Trixie’s wrist in mid-air. 

She gives Trixie a firm stare as she says, “Calm down, yeah?”

“I just don’t like that word,” Trixie mumbles.

“I know, I’m sorry,” says Violet, brushing Trixie’s stringy hair out of her eyes. She rests her forehead against Trixie’s, “I can’t believe you’re still getting yourself into these messes. You’re almost thirty! Sometimes I hear people talk about gay rights and I think of you and I’m like, some people shouldn’t have rights.”

Trixie huffs, “That’s my joke.”

Trixie hears a familiar drum beat thumping through the floor and Kate Bush’s vocal floating from outside the door to the restroom. 

“This is Katya’s song!” shouts Violet, “Let’s go laugh at her dancing.”

Trixie nods and links arms with Violet, leaning into her slightly for support. 

Violet pulls open the door to the restrooms and then pauses. As Trixie takes a step towards the door, Violet leans in close to Trixie’s ear and whispers, “I love Bianca, and it scares the shit out of me.”  
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_November 2018_  
Inevitably, there’s an argument. Trixie hears Katya on the phone to Violet late at night. There’s a piercing shrieking coming from the receiver. Trixie’s seen Violet cry quietly and gracefully, but she’s never heard her shriek like her heart is rending in two before.

Katya makes wide eyes at Trixie. It looks like it hurts to listen. Katya wraps her hands around herself and balls her fists into her stomach. 

Trixie is calling by the Centre anyway but makes sure she leaves time for a chat with Violet. Violet is in Ginger’s office looking over resumes. She’s decided to employ someone else to run the cafe, freeing up her time to develop the theatre and cinema output. Her eyes are red rimmed, but her black hair is still pulled back in its high ponytail. 

She tosses a pile of resumes at Trixie, “I know you’ve not run a cafe before, but just pick out anyone you think sounds reasonably competent. I don’t have time to stop to chat.”

When she gets home, Trixie calls Bianca. 

“What happened with Violet?” She can’t resist asking. 

“What’s she been saying?”

“Nothing,” Trixie lies. She sighs and then blurts it out, “Katya told me you and Violet got into it over the phone yesterday.”

It doesn’t take Bianca long to hit her stride. She rants and Trixie can barely draw breath to interject.

“And I said, ‘If you wanna walk, keep walkin’. If you never want to talk to me again, fuckin’ shut up! Like, you want help deleting my number or something?”

“Bianca, I don’t think – “

“She been giving you her whole Evita act, has she?” 

“No, it’s just Katya said Violet – “

“For fucks sake, I’m not having a four-way discussion about my relationship. This isn’t the fucking U.N. Security Council.”

Bianca hangs up. Trixie sits on Katya’s side of the bed, gaping like a fish, for a moment. 

At the weekend they go for brunch in JP, and Violet mentions Bianca in passing. Katya asks what’s going on with the pair of them. Violet brushes her hair over one shoulder and says, “Yes, well, shouting is just the hallmark of passion sometimes.”  
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_February 2019_  
Bianca moves to Boston on a rainy February afternoon. Trixie and Katya both offer to haul boxes, but Bianca insists her and Violet can manage alone. She invites them to dinner instead, and at 7.30 they find themselves waiting outside Bianca-and-Violet’s new apartment with a bottle of wine, some flowers and a greetings card. 

The hallway is still full of neatly stacked clear plastic boxes. Violet clips the lids off a few of them and let’s Katya and Trixie peep inside. 

Violet whispers, “Look! This is box one of five for the bathroom. She’s got a section for “Face” which is broken down into scrubs, creams, gels and God knows what else.”

Violet ushers them further down the hallway but pauses to her run her nail down another stack of boxes. She says, “These are all her fabric boxes, I can’t _wait_ to see what I can steal in here!”

“I heard that you fucking klepto! Keep your skinny fucking fingers out of my shit!” Bianca yells from inside the kitchen. 

Violet leads them through the apartment. She vaguely points out key features, but it's very similar to their own place. They arrive in the kitchen, and the smell of spices is strong.

Bianca is bent necked in the kitchen, engrossed in chopping herbs on the worktop. She’s frying sticky plantain on a skillet and she’s got a big metal pot bubbling at the back of the hob. Fresh ingredients are set out meticulously in glass bowls. 

Trixie sees the knife. It's a long knife with a wide blade and a red, wooden handle. Bianca had turned up to college with it, saying that it had been her grandfather's. She'd been so protective of it, keeping it in her room when not in use. Kim had once wound up a girl that Bianca had brought home, telling her to watch out for her "big red knife."

It's the sight of the knife that brings it home to Trixie that Bianca lives here now. That Boston is home for both of them. She sprints across the kitchen, wraps Bianca up in her arms against her chest. Bianca feels so petite and Trixie holds her harder and harder until Bianca thumps her on the back. They're close enough that they can see each other casually, that they can just drink and watch T.V. in each other's homes. They can ignore each other in the same room if they want to. Socialising doesn't have to mean restaurants booked weeks in advance and serious, life catch-ups. 

Bianca pushes Trixie off her, hurrying back to the hob. She explains what she's making, traditional rice and peas with shredded jackfruit instead of steak, as well as fried plantain and a salsa. She tries to complain about Trixie's vegetarianism, but her dimples pop out full force out as she breaks into a smile. 

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.  
.

The meal is spicy and delicious and sits heavy in Trixie's stomach. She's had two helpings and most of a bottle of a wine, and the room is pleasantly warm and dimly lit. They may have only just moved in, but Violet has already set up some atmospheric table lamps instead of the bright light overhead. Trixie's eyes keep dropping, and the arm of the couch is looking more and more comfortable for her head. 

Katya lies over her, slotting her angular body over Trixie's. She kisses around Trixie's shoulder mindlessly, twining her hands in Trixie's hair.  


Violet is lying over Bianca, hands locked behind Bianca's neck. Bianca is talking quietly, Violet snorting with laughter into Bianca's chest. Bianca brings her hand around Violet and grinds her fist gently into the small of Violet's back. Violet hums and rolls her hips. 

"I think we should go," whispers Katya into Trixie's ear. 

Trixie nods, "Yeah, I'll call a cab. I can't wait to get to bed."

Bianca and Violet give a token protest when Katya and Trixie get to their feet, but Trixie doesn't miss the sly smile they give each other.

"Enjoy Christening the bed!" Trixie shouts as they make their way down the drive, hearing Bianca's cackle fade into the distance.  
.  
.  
.  
_April 2020_  
“Fucking hell, Trixie! Come here!”

Trixie drops the lid of her moisturiser in the sink with a clatter, and sprints down the hallway.

“Katya, what?”

Katya is on her laptop at their kitchen table, tortoiseshell frames slipping halfway down her nose. 

“Look at this! From Bianca and Violet! They’ve sent it to us, Kim, Ginger. Possibly Bianca’s mum, or sister? A Del Rio, anyway! And then like five people I don’t know.” 

Katya spins the laptop to face Trixie. Trixie’s sees the familiar layout of Katya’s Gmail account. Katya’s got an email open on the browser and Trixie leans in to read it properly. 

_Surprise! We got married in Italy! Tell anyone and we’ll break your fingers._  
_Lots of love,_  
_Bianca and Violet._

Katya clicks open an attachment while Trixie digests the message. 

Bianca and Violet standing on the stone steps outside the Duomo. It’s a close-up shot, but Trixie recognises the ornate bronze doors, the bands of green, pink and white marble. Bianca grins directly at the camera, wearing a one shouldered ball gown that Trixie would bet is of her own making. Her skin has tanned to a deep, golden brown already, and the Italian sun is glancing off sequins on the white fabric. Violet hangs off Bianca’s arm, leaning back and tilting her face away. Her dress is red and skin tight, plunges low enough that Trixie can make out her sternum. She bends one thigh across the other like a model, and wears matching red stilettos that Trixie can’t imagine wearing over the pockmarked stones of the piazza. They cast long shadows down the steps of the Cathedral and the photographer has caught a few tourists in shot, turning to look at the striking pair.

“That was… _fast_ ” says Katya, wide eyed, hands still frozen above the keyboard.  
.  
.  
.  
_April 2020_  
Trixie is sewing little red crosses into the waistbands of her pantyhose. She can't stand accidentally taking Katya's pantyhose from the dryer any more. It frustrates her beyond measure when she wastes precious time in the mornings pulling them over her knees and then not being able to get them up any further from there. 

She feels Katya's presence before she sees her. But she doesn't move to Trixie, she just hovers behind her. Trixie's just about to twist over her shoulder to ask her what's up when Katya says, "Do you want to get married? To me?"

"Are you proposing to me, or is this just a scoping exercise?"

"Oh, a scoping exercise." Katya says quickly, her eyes darting around Trixie’s face.

"Then no, not really," Trixie says, looping the red thread in and out of her waistband before knotting and snipping it, then moving on to another. She talks as she works, "I don't feel that I need to be married to you to feel that this is it for me. You are my partner in all things." 

Katya beams at her, eyes crinkled so much that Trixie can barely see her irises. Katya takes the pantyhose and sewing kit from Trixie’s lap, carefully pushing Trixie's needle into the side of the couch for safe keeping. She crawls onto Trixie’s lap, strong feet snaking between Trixie’s back and the couch cushions to wrap her legs tightly around Trixie. She drags her lips up Trixie’s neck and breathes, “Thank God for that” in her ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to everyone who saw me post this as the second chapter of _There Is Thunder In Our Hearts_. I'm a fucking tool.
> 
> Also, fun fact: like two days after I wrote the wedding bit, some friends sprung a secret wedding on me! _Manifesting_


	23. Supplementary material III: 2026, 'Fostering.'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is something I wrote some time ago after reading an article about youth homelessness in the US and getting quite cross as it has a lot of personal resonance with me. A couple of people asked me on Tumblr whether they thought Trixie and Katya would ever want to be parents, and I suppose this my answer. 
> 
> It takes place eight years later.
> 
> Trigger:  
> Angry young men, sexist language.

2026

"It's two Ts and one L, like Barbie!" says Trixie brightly, leaning over the case worker's paperwork. "We did this online months ago." 

"I know Mrs - Miss Mattel, but it's standard procedure to go over the basics again with you when we meet." 

He turns to Katya. He's got pale eyes, broken capillaries all over his nose and knobbled fingers that speak of arthritis.

"Can you give me your full name please, Ma'am?"

"Yekaterina Petrovna Zamolodchikova."

He blinks, "Is that Polish?"

"No, Russian. My parents came over to teach at Harvard, " Trixie has drilled it into her that they need to summon as much societal privilege as they can in this interview. 

His eyes widen further and he nods enthusiastically. 

"Just call me Katya," She smiles broadly so he can see her healthy, clean teeth. 

"No Ma'am, we need your full names. Can you spell it out for me, please?"

"Y, E, K -" Katya and Trixie start spelling at the same time.

"Sorry," Trixie smiles shyly at Katya, "You do it."

Trixie looks nervous, and Katya rubs her hand over her knee reassuringly. She hopes she isn't fucking it up for the pair of them.

After he has written their names in the boxes provided, crushing Katya's name down the side of the page when he runs out of room, he turns to Trixie.

"Is that a 'Sconsin accent I hear?"

"Yes sir,"

"I'm from Minne, myself. Neighbours!" 

"I love Minne!" declares Trixie with manufactured enthusiasm, "St Paul's is such a great city! And Lake Superior is so beautiful!"

He smiles, pointing at a picture of a small boy holding a big fish in his hands on the desk, "I took that on a family trip home to see my parents!" 

"Oh wow," says Trixie, "That looks like so much fun."

Trixie's lipstick is starting to feather at the edges. Although she is charismatic, funny, interested in people, Trixie sometimes comes across as abrasive. Katya doesn't think she's ever seen Trixie work so hard to seem soft and breezy.  
They'd seen an article in the newspaper a few months ago, reporting that over 60% of teenagers that 'age out' of the foster care system have no-where to go, and that a quarter of those are homeless three years later. Massachusetts had just launched a new scheme where adults could volunteer to house a young person aged out of foster care, until they secure alternative accommodation. After leaving their interim foster placement, the young person would be given a small grant to cover the cost of rented accommodation for a few months, basic supplies for moving in, and help with education and employment. The scheme allocated each young person an official case worker, and volunteers would be given a stipend to cover the cost of hosting. Trixie cut the article out and kept it on her desk for a month or two, while Katya thought about the best way to raise the idea. 

Eventually, Trixie had brought it up herself. They had just returned home from a meal out with Bianca and Violet. Bianca had spent most of the evening making faces at a Latina baby on a nearby table, eventually going over to dandle her and speak softly to her in Spanish. Violet had said something coy about how her and Bianca were 'evaluating their options', and then moved conversation on. 

In their kitchen, Katya was enjoying mocking the idea of a Del-Chachki baby when Trixie had suddenly interrupted Katya. She'd been slow in explaining what she wanted. So slow that Katya's stomach started to drop. But Trixie had eventually, haltingly explained that she hadn't changed her mind about children, but thought they might both find it rewarding to guide a teenager to independent adulthood. 

Since they had bought their first home together, Trixie and Katya were selective about who and what they brought into it. Katya liked spending afternoons in their solarium, working through a flow on her mat, while Trixie tinkered with a set box or sped through a lightweight novel. They liked arguing about politics with Bianca and Violet late into the evening on their big wooden table. The idea of their home being a safe respite to someone was something that appealed to Katya as much as Trixie. 

So they'd done some further research, filled out the online forms and completed the mandatory training. They'd both passed three different levels of criminal background check.

One afternoon, Katya had come home to find Trixie standing on their bed, drilling a new fire alarm into the ceiling. 

"We need to have one in every room, this booklet says," Trixie tells Katya, "We can't fail the assessment over something so stupid."

Katya had passed her the batteries and then bundled up the blankets and shaken them out of the window to get rid of the dust. 

Now, in this airless grey room they are finally at the last hurdle. 

"Can you please tell me a little about your job Miss Zamo- Zamolod, Ma'am?" 

"I run a small business offering a range of holistic and person centred therapeutic interventions. My services include counselling, massage, yoga etc. I do some community based work but also have a private client base, mostly sourced online or through word of mouth in the South End, Somerville and Cambridge area," She's learnt her lines well. 

He nods seriously. 

"And you, Miss Mattel?" 

"I'm a self-employed lighting designer and technician in the Boston area, occasionally touring."

"Are you away from home a lot?" 

Sometimes, but Katya's parents live in Boston and we have a large community of friends - " Trixie stumbles over her words a bit. 

Katya picks the thread up, "With our online application we submitted a list of the dates Trixie has not been home for the last six months," 

"Yes, yes, I see. Have you ever seen The Lion King?" 

"The Lion King?" 

"The Lion King. It's about, you know, little Simba and Nala and Scar. There are all these people being animals. Some of them have puppets, some of them are on stilts! I saw it in New York years ago. Anyway, if you like theatre, you'll definitely like The Lion King."

Trixie coughs loudly into her fist.

"Yes," Trixie grinds out, "I love The Lion King."

"Marvellous! Anyway, that all looks tremendously regular. I'll get something in the post in due course. Awesome to meet you, have a great day now!" 

They emerge blinking onto the pavement. Cars rush by. People are walking with dogs and prams. Outside the T-stop someone is playing the guitar. 

Trixie takes Katya for churros at a tiny place she says that Bianca and Violet told her about. They sit in the window on high bar stools and eat out of recycled cardboard trays. Trixie swipes away the dulce de leche from the corner of Katya's mouth with her thumb, then follows it with an open-mouthed kiss right where the pedestrians are walking past. 

Their letter comes seven tense days after the appointment, approving ‘Miss Trixie Matell’ and ‘Miss Yekaterina Katya Petrovna Zamoloshikova’ as interim foster carers for aged out young people. 

Weeks pass, and they don’t receive any calls. Trixie calls the office and speaks to a social worker that attempts to explain to her that there have not yet been any suitable young people. The programme’s funds are limited, and they only want to place young people that are best placed to make the most of the opportunity. 

“So you’re telling me that you’re not selecting the young people based on their need but on how easy they are to work with?”

Katya can hear the social worker stuttering to explain further to Trixie. She keeps on stopping and starting her sentences, and Trixie is railroading all over her.

“Look, I don’t mean to be rude,” Trixie says. Katya knows she does mean to be rude. “But we signed up for a reason. If there’s a child that’s going to be sleeping on the sidewalk tonight, put them in our spare room. Okay?”

Trixie rakes her hand through her hair, “Did I say the right thing?” All Katya can do is shrug. She doesn’t know. 

Katya takes on a few interesting new clients. Trixie moves from one show to another. The weather is unseasonably warm and they spend a full day by the Esplanade, recreating one of their first dates. Katya has a strange, unexpected panic attack on the subway, but also rereads her favourite James Baldwin novel. They almost forget about being on the list of potential foster carers. 

It’s 9.30pm on a Friday night when they get the call to say that there’s a young man named Adam heading over to them in a taxi. 

When he arrives, he’s got close-cropped blonde hair, grey eyes and a baggy Boston Celtics sweater. A woman’s name is inked across the back of his hand. He’s a few inches taller than Trixie. 

He leans against the sink, gets himself a glass from the drying rack and fills it straight from the refrigerator door. 

“Hi Adam, it’s great to meet you,” says Trixie.

“Damn," he says, raking his eyes over Trixie and Katya. 

Katya raises her eyebrow, “That’s not appropriate.” 

He smirks, chugs from his water glass.

He walks over to their sideboard, picks up one of Trixie's Barbies.

"Why do you have dolls in your house? That's so creepy," He sneers, wrinkling his nose.

Trixie's voice is calm as she answers, "I collect them. Always have."

He twists the doll's little hat so it sits at a weird angle. Trixie doesn't move a muscle. 

“Can I go up to bed?” Adam asks. 

Katya shows him to their spare room. He doesn't make any comment on the room, just pushes his suitcase in to the corner and stands awkwardly by the bed. Katya softly closes the door, and waits in the hall to hear signs that he's settling in. She doesn't hear any noise from inside, not even his suitcase zip opening. She decides to give up and give him some space. When she finds Trixie in the living room, she's cradling her doll in the crease of her elbow and adjusting its hat. 

Katya wakes alone in the middle of the night. Trixie’s side of the bed is cold. Katya finds her sitting in the kitchen, facing the door to the hall.

“You alright?” 

“I feel like I’m the only thing standing between him and a pack of wolves, bears, whatever. I don’t know.”

Her face is pale, the shadows under her eyes dark. In her lap there’s a sheaf of papers.

“I’ve been reading his case notes. They go back twelve years. There’s a lot redacted but you get the gist.”

Katya lifts them out of her lap and slots them back into the file they’ve been given.

Trixie sighs, “There's a file like this on me, somewhere.”

Katya reaches down the collar of Trixie’s nightshirt and scoops out her hair, including the fine little baby hairs at the back of her neck. Katya starts gently plaiting it, weaving the thick curls together. 

When Katya gets to the bottom of Trixie’s hair, she strokes her fingers down Trixie's neck and shoulders instead. 

“Come to bed, Trix. We’ll speak to Adam in the morning and find out what he wants to do.”

Trixie gains Adam's trust within the first couple of days. It reminds Katya of when Violet suddenly thawed towards Trixie; the wordless understanding that Trixie is also a member of the fellowship of people estranged from their parents. By the end of the first week, Adam and Trixie are firm friends. Trixie writes him a resume and spends hours teaching him the guitar. Katya can tell that after about ten minutes of him clumsily plucking at the strings she starts getting frustrated, but she still attempts to show him how different picks, different parts of the finger, can change the sound. They wash and dry the plates after dinner side by side, talking quietly about cars. 

When Katya's alone with Adam, Katya doesn't quite know what to do with herself. Her genuine sentiments get lost in stock phrases from her counselling textbooks. She so badly wants to be liked by him, to make a difference. 

One evening, Katya invites Adam to run with her the next morning. He shrugs, and she figures that’s as close as she’ll get to an enthusiastic yes. She has to practically drag him from his bed, puffy-eyed and smelling of sweat. At first he tries to outpace her, but gives up when he realises that she can run for at least five times as long as he can. Smoking be damned. Side by side, without eye contact, he is much more open to discussing life with her. 

By the end of the month, they buy hot, greasy chicken and eat it in her car where Trixie can’t see. She tells him the wild drug stories that she’s never even told Trixie; they both cry laughing when she talks about shitting herself in the drive-thru with her sister’s boyfriend. At the end of Katya's stories, he admits that drugs make him uneasy, that his friends sometimes push it too hard. She listens and listens as the windscreen gets splattered with rain, the droplets hiding them from curious outside eyes. 

Katya drives them home and Trixie's still at work, Katya grabs some chips and joins Adam on the sofa to watch a film that he has downloaded. 

“You know, I used to specialise in film in college?” Katya says. 

“Was that when they had those cameras where you had to wear a stupid fucking blanket on top of your head?”

Katya ends up boring him about David Lynch for the next twenty minutes, and she figures the little shit deserves it. 

While Adam's there, they don’t fuck as much. There’s one evening when Trixie ambushes Katya straight from the shower. She pushes Katya down on to the bed, digging her fingers into Katya’s muscular stomach. She’s got a ball gag in one hand and a strap on in the other. Katya lets Trixie push the silicone, puckered with marks from Trixie’s oddly spaced teeth, between her jaws. Trixie rummages in Katya’s hair to fasten the buckle at the back of her head. Trixie kisses her on the tip of her nose, and then bends Katya’s knees up so she can slip the harness up Katya’s legs and on to her hips. 

Trixie pulls the straps tight and then whispers in Katya’s ear, “Don’t you judge me. Don’t you _fucking_ judge me.”

Trixie settles herself down over Katya’s hips and takes the length of the toy inside her in one go. Her eyes roll back and her mouth drops open, but otherwise she rides Katya for twenty minutes in complete silence. Trixie controls her rhythm so tightly that their bed doesn’t even squeak. Katya's pretty sure Trixie's mostly using her internal muscles to get herself off, and for the first time in her life Katya wishes she had a real cock so she could feel her muscles flutter and clench around her. Katya can’t resist grabbing Trixie’s tightly clenched thighs. When Trixie’s eventually done she flops down onto Katya’s chest, hissing “Thank you. I so needed that.”

On a sunny Friday afternoon, an argument erupts out of nowhere. It's good natured at first; he tries to get Trixie to admit to having a fake ID when she was his age, and then tries to get Katya to talk to one of his buddies on the phone. 

Suddenly, Adam throws a large glass against the door of the refrigerator. He looks at the broken glass spread across the kitchen tiles with wide eyes. He holds his hand frozen in the air, as if he cannot connect it to his body. Katya stares at the glass shards all over the floor. Her mind starts racing. Someone’s going to slip. Someone’s going to cut themselves.

Trixie slowly gets to her feet. She walks to Adam. She lowers her voice, “Don’t you ever dare throw shit in my house again.” 

Adam looks down his nose at her. He shifts his weight from one foot, to the other. He bends his elbows so that they stick out. Trixie keeps her face neutral, pleasant. Like she’s waiting for her train ticket to be approved by the conductor. 

He walks close to Trixie, ripples his shoulders like a panther. He lowers his voice to match hers and snarls, “Who the fuck even are you, anyway?” 

He stomps upstairs and returns twenty minutes later, in a new t-shirt and his best shoes. He’s talking loudly on his phone, “Yeah I’m on my way. Just got to lose these dykes first." Adam pauses and turns to look at Trixie, "The fat one is being a right bitch.” 

Then he’s gone, the door slamming behind him. Trixie is quiet all evening, and they head to bed sooner than they ever would normally. Katya wraps all her body around the back of Trixie’s. She tries to wriggle her fingers everywhere they fit, crunches her knees firmly in the back of Trixie’s. Trixie doesn’t fall asleep straight away like she usually does, even when Katya puts her favourite podcast on. 

“I’m sorry Adam was so vile to you earlier.”

Trixie doesn't respond, but Katya can feel her muscles stiffen.

Katya continues, “I’m sure he’s just playing on the Playstation with the boys.”

Trixie remains silent. Katya tries again.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t very proactive, I didn’t know what to –“ 

Trixie interrupts, “It’s not that. It’s none of that. I’m angry with myself. I’m angry that I let a teenage boy intimidate me.”

Katya squeezes Trixie around the middle as hard as she can. She rattles off what she can think of to say, "You're safe. He's just a boy really. I'm here. He probably already feels like an idiot. I love you. You're strong. You're doing a good job."

Trixie doesn't speak again, but her breathing gets slower and heavier.

In the morning, Katya is dimly aware of Trixie thumping around. She hears the jingle of Trixie’s car keys as she stands over Katya next to the bed. 

“Katya, I need to go to work now. Adam is home. Will you try and make him some breakfast and talk to him?”

Katya wants to remove him from the house. She wants to call the social worker and say that they’ve tried, but he was abusive to Trixie and he has to go. But there’s no way that Trixie would forgive her if she did that. 

Instead, she picks her way through the dirty t-shirts on the floor of his room and shakes him awake.

“Adam, do you want eggs?”

He nods before he cracks his eyes open. Katya sees the remorse in the sliver of grey that meets her own. 

Adam sits with his elbows braced either side of his plate of eggs. He interlocks his hands like he’s praying, and rests his forehead on top.

“Katya, do you want me just to go?” He shrugs in a way that he must think looks worldly wise, “I mean, I’ve got places I can be.” 

“No, you don’t. You’re staying here.”

“Do you think I should buy Trixie something?”

“With whose money? The best thing you can do is use today productively, so you have something to show her when she gets back.”

Adam sends out some copies of his resume and fills applications for two different courses at the community college. He practices one of Trixie’s granddad's songs on the guitar.

Adam makes a successful attempt at vegetarian tacos. The kitchen is covered in cornflour and spice mix, but Katya has to credit his effort. When Trixie gets home she eats them eagerly, humming to herself as she licks sour cream off the side of her hand. The three of them clean up together; Katya sweeps the floor and drops the contents of the dustpan into the garbage bin, covering up the paper package of broken glass that she dumped in there the previous night. 

A few weeks later, they get a call from his social worker. Adam has found a room in a shared apartment, and Social Services are willing to pay his security deposit. One of the other boys is an apprentice at a local car shop, and the mechanic at the shop has agreed to take Adam on as well. 

They help him pack up his room and do one last load of laundry for him. Katya folds his scant collection of t-shirts and jeans and puts them in the same suitcase they came in. When Trixie thinks Katya can’t see, she puts $200 in an envelope and pushes it into his hands. Katya sees, and she reminds herself to reimburse Trixie with half of the money. 

On the first night on their own they watch a film sprawled out on the sofa. Katya tugs Trixie’s big thighs over her own, starts massaging her muscles. Trixie folds her hand over Katya's and moves it up to her pussy, then snaps back quickly. Trixie laughs at herself and puts Katya's hand back. 

“Sorry, I forgot Adam wasn’t here for a moment,”

Trixie pulls her old cotton t-shirt up around her neck to let Katya take Trixie’s breasts in her hands and knead them gently. In the warm of their house her nipples are puffy and soft, the blue veins visible under her pink skin. They’re heavy, and Katya tries to gather them and rest them both on one of her forearms while she nuzzles into Trixie’s cleavage. They end up fucking on the sofa and after they’re done, Trixie pulls their blanket down over them. They fight over who sits in the wet patch and rewind the part of the film they missed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The stats, as far as I know, are real. There isn't currently a scheme like this in Ma but I made up the process from what I researched about the real fostering process in Ma and what I know about a scheme like this in the UK.


End file.
